Сонет 104

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.

Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:

For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

                ***
Всё  та  же  ты,  хоть  и  мелькают  годы,
Таясь  за  белым  саваном  зимы,
За  хмарями  дождливой  непогоды,
В  размывах  света,  в  нетопырях  тьмы.

Прервав  оцепененье  прорастали
Ковром  апреля  росные  луга,
Вновь  паводки  топили  берега,
Вновь  бронзовые  листья  облетали.

Ход  стрелки  часовой  не  внятен  глазу:
Она  ползёт,  но,  будто  замерла,
Запечатлев  увиденное  сразу,
Как  хладные  немые  зеркала.

Так  и  твоё  незримое  старенье
Осталось  за  чертою  предрожденья.