Si mi amor, como yo, es afrentado
Por el Tiempo y su mano injuriosa,
Y las horas su sangre debilitan
Tallándole arrugas cuando trepe
Por la noche escarpada de los años,
Cuando tanta belleza que hoy gobierna
Ya esté marchitándose, o marchita,
Y el tesoro de abril haya perdido,
Para entonces, ahora me preparo
Contra el acero torvo y revoltoso,
Para que nunca siegue el recuerdo
Su beldad, aun llevándose su vida.
Su beldad será vista en negras líneas,
Y ellas vivirán, y él siempre en ellas.

Against my love shall be as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn;
When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travelled on to age's steepy night;
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.