While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse 只要你活着，你自己就是甜美的主题。

　　Thine own sweet argument, too excellent for every vulgar paper to rehearse? 你踊动于我的诗章，如此美妙，要描摹你，焉能谬托蹩脚诗人的颓笔？

　　O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 假如我的诗有聊供垂鉴之处，

　　Worthy perusal stand against thy sight; 那也全是由于你的惠顾。

　　For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, 正是你点燃了想象的火把，

　　When thou thyself dost give invention light? 才令无动于衷者为体诗情勃发。

　　Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth 你超过你前面的九位老缪斯十倍，

　　Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; 你将名列十位诗神榜中而无愧。

　　And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 且让求助你的诗人诗花怒放，

　　Eternal numbers to outlive long date. 写出超迈永恒的不朽篇章。

　　If my slight Muse do please these curious days, 倘这苛求时代容得下我微薄的诗才，

　　The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 我当万苦不辞只写诗将你讴歌礼拜。