Para mí, amigo mío, no envejeces
Pues mis ojos han visto desde siempre
Intacta tu belleza: tres inviernos
Estragaron tres fértiles estíos
Y tres veces fue otoño primavera;
Si en tal decurso de las estaciones
Tres fragancias de abril consumió junio,
Tú preservas tu fresca lozanía.
Mas tal como la aguja sigilosa
Que las horas señala lentamente
Acaso tu belleza, que veo inmóvil,
Sufre cambios que mi ojo no percibe.
Si es así, escucha, edad futura:
La perfección murió y no habías nacido.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
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.