When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
四十个冬天将会围攻你的额头，
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
在你那美的田地上掘下浅槽深沟。
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
那时，你如今令人钦羡的青春华服
Will be a tottered weed of small worth held:
将不免价落千丈，寒伧而又鄙陋。
Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,
如有人问起，何处尚存你当年的美色，
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
或何处有遗芳可追寻你往昔的风流，
To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
你却只能说："它们都在我深陷的眼里。"
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
这回答是空洞的颂扬，徒令答者蒙羞。
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
但假如你能说："这里有我美丽的孩子
If thou couldst answer, 'This fair child of mine
可续我韶华春梦，免我老迈时的隐忧"，
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
那么孩子之美就是你自身美的明证，
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
你如这样使用美，方值得讴颂千秋。
This were to be new made when thou art old,
如此，你纵然已衰老，美却会重生，
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
你纵然血已冰凉，也自会借体重温。
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