莎士比亚十四行诗全集:第108篇（打印版）

　　What's in the brain that ink may character 我的大脑里的东西只要能成为笔底诗文，

　　Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? 有哪一样不曾用来向你描述我的真心？

　　What's new to speak, what new to register, 表达我的深爱，描摹你的美艳，

　　That may express my love or thy dear merit? 可怜声音与文字再不能花样翻新。

　　Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, 虽说如此，宝贝儿，我仍将日日夜夜

　　I must, each day say o'er the very same, 念经似地叨念同一篇爱的经文。

　　Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 休说是老调重弹，你属我，我属你，

　　Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. 我说了又说，宛若当初敬颂你的芳名。

　　So that eternal love in love's fresh case 于是在新鲜爱匣中的永恒之爱，

　　Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 自能远避年岁带来的磨损与灰尘，

　　Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, 自能免皱纹唐突挤占一席之地，

　　But makes antiquity for aye his page, 好使暮年残月永伴不死的青春。

　　Finding the first conceit of love there bred 尽管时光与外貌难遮掩爱的死相，

　　Where time and outward form would show it dead. 那最初的一缕爱叶却永远不会枯黄。