Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal¹ life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
  You still shall live--such virtue² hath my pen--
  Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

 

无论我将活着为你写墓志铭，
或你未亡而我已在地下腐朽，
纵使我已被遗忘得一干二净，
死神将不能把你的忆念夺走。
你的名字将从这诗里得永生，
虽然我，一去，对人间便等于死；
大地只能够给我一座乱葬坟，
而你却将长埋在人们眼睛里。
我这些小诗便是你的纪念碑，
未来的眼睛固然要百读不厌，
未来的舌头也将要传诵不衰，
当现在呼吸的人已瞑目长眠。
　　这强劲的笔将使你活在生气
　　最蓬勃的地方，在人们的嘴里。