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Sonnet 16 by William Shakespeare
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
• ────────────────────────────────── •
16. szonett (Fordította: Szabó Lőrinc)
De mért nem várja különb fegyvered
Az Időt, ezt a véres zsarnokot?
S romlásodtól mért nem óv üdvösebb
Eszköz, mint ezek a száraz dalok?
Boldog óráknak járod ormait;
És sok még parlag kert, sok szűzi vágy
Megteremné élő virágaid,
Hűbb képeid, mint amit ecset ád:
Így az élet rajzolná újra ezt
Az életet, melyet külszínre és
Belső becsben föltárni ez (a Perc
Ónja s az én inas-tollam) kevés.
Ha átadod, megtartod életed;
Élned kell: élj, rajz, saját remeked.
#poetry #poem #actorsreadingpoetry
