What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity¹ for aye his page,
  Finding the first conceit² of love there bred
  Where time and outward form would show it dead.

脑袋里有什么，笔墨形容得出，
我这颗真心不已经对你描画？
还有什么新东西可说可记录，
以表白我的爱或者你的真价？
没有，乖乖；可是，虔诚的祷词
我没有一天不把它复说一遍；
老话并不老；你属我，我也属你，
就像我祝福你名字的头一天。
所以永恒的爱在长青爱匣里
不会蒙受年岁的损害和尘土，
不会让皱纹占据应有的位置，
反而把老时光当作永久的家奴；
　　发觉最初的爱苗依旧得保养，
　　尽管时光和外貌都盼它枯黄。