When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,' Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
[Скрыть]Регистрационный номер 0119442 выдан для произведения:
Когда зима избороздит чело,
Накрыв снегами гордость красоты,
И молодость, чье время истекло,
Оденется в лохмотья нищеты,
Тебя вдруг спросят: "Где же, друг, сейчас
Богатство юных и блестящих лет?"
Не говори: "В сиянье старых глаз",
Насмешкой прозвучит такой ответ.
Похвальней было б искренне сказать:
"Мы в наших детях вечны и юны.
Они – любовь и Божья благодать,
Бессмертие пленительной весны.
Свет юности вернется с ними вновь,
Согревлюбовьюстарческуюкровь".
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,' Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.