From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
Потомства от существ прекрасны все хотят,
Чтоб в мире красота цвела - не умирала:
Пусть зрелая краса от времени увяла -
Е╠ ростки о ней нам память сохранят.
Но ты, чей гордый взор никто не привлекает,
А светлый пламень сам свой пыл в себе питает,
Там голод сея, где избыток должен быть -
Ты сам свой злейший враг, готовый вс╠ сгубить.
Ты, лучший из людей, природы украшенья,
И вестник молодой пленительной весны,
Замкнувшись, сам в себе хоронишь счастья сны
И сеешь вкруг себя одно опустошенье.
Ты пожалей хоть мир - упасть ему не дай
И, как земля, даров его не пожирай.
From Fairest Creatures We Desire Increase
That Thereby Beauty's Rose Might Never Die
But As The Riper Should by Time Decease,
His Tender Heir Might Bear His Memory:
But Thou, CONTRACTED TO THINE OWN BRIGHT EYES,
Feed'st Thy Light'st Flame with Self-Substantial Fuel
Making A FAMINE WHERE ABUNDANCE LIES,
THYSELF THY FOE, TOY SWEET SELF TOOO CRUEL.
Thou That Art Now The World's Fresh Ornament
And Only Herald to the Gaudy Spring,
WITHIN THINE OWN BUD BURIEST THY CONTENT
And, Tender Churl, Makest Waste in Niggarding.
Pity The World, Or Else This Glutton Be,
To Eat The World's Due, by The Grave and thee.
The offspring of creatures are beautiful everyone wants
So that in the world beauty bloom - not died:
Let the mature beauty faded -
E╠ sprouts about it will be saved to us.
But you whose proud nobody attracts
And the bright flame itself feeds his heat in itself,
There hunger sow where the excess should be -
You yourself are your worst enemy, ready to spit.
You, the best of people, nature decorated,
And a messenger of young captivating spring,
By closed, he himself bury the happiness of dreams
And we use the whole empty one.
You pray at least the world - do not give him
And, like the Earth, the gifts do not devour him.
