But wherefore do not you a mightier¹ way
Make war upon this bloody² tyrant³, Time?
And fortify⁴ yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden⁵ gardens yet unset
With virtuous⁶ wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
  To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
  And you must live, drawn⁷ by your own sweet skill.

但是为什么不用更凶的法子
去抵抗这血淋淋的魔王--时光？
不用比我的枯笔吉利的武器，
去防御你的衰朽，把自己加强？
你现在站在黄金时辰的绝顶，
许多少女的花园，还未经播种，
贞洁地切盼你那绚烂的群英，
比你的画像更酷肖你的真容：
只有生命的线能把生命重描；
时光的画笔，或者我这枝弱管，
无论内心的美或外貌的姣好，
都不能使你在人们眼前活现。
　　献出你自己依然保有你自己，
　　而你得活着，靠你自己的妙笔。