莎士比亚的二十四行诗

Shakespeare Sonnet 12

When I do count the clock that tells the time

And see the brave day sunk in hideous night

When I behold the violet past prime

And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white:

When lofty trees I see barren of leaves

Which erst from heat did canopy the herd

And summer's green， all girded up in sheaves

Born on the bier with white and bristly beard

Then of thy beauty do I question make

That thou among the wastes of time must go

Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake

And die as fast as they see others grow

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence

Save breed， to brave him when he takes thee hence.