假若在我幸福离去之后你仍在那儿，
在那见鬼的——死亡——用尘土盖了我的白骨之后，
假若你偶然又拾起了，
你已逝的爱人作的这粗鄙不堪的诗行，
把它与日新的华章两相比较，
尽管每首新诗都胜过它，
每位更受祝福的诗人都屹立于我之上，
把诗留下来吧为着我的爱，而不是为了韵脚。
只要你，这样想我就好：
“假若我情人的缪斯也能与时俱进，
他的爱本该诞下更美妙的果实，
加入今日文学那壮伟的军阵，
但既然他已死，今日的诗人不过向我证明，
新诗的价值在于格律，而他的只在于爱。”
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'