Sonnet126 by William Shakespeare 莎翁十四行诗 第126篇 | 英语名家诗篇

SONNET 126O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy powerDost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'stThy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:   Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,   And her quietus is to render thee.