Love Poem Twelve - Modernised Shakespeare
O you were yourself, but I love you
No longer to you, that you live yourself,
Against this end, you should prepare yourself,
And your sweet appearance to another give.
So, this beauty that you hold for rent
Find no determination, then you were
Your self again after the death of your self,
When your sweet problem your sweet shape should endure.
Who just let a house fall into ruins,
What breeding in honor could support,
Against stormy gusts of winter day
And the sterile rage of the eternal cold of death?
O that without fortune, dear love, you know,
You had a father, let your son say it..
Love Poem Thirteen - Modernised Shakespeare
It's not stars that I tear off my judgment,
And yet, it seems to me that I have astronomy,
But do not talk about good or bad luck,
Wounds, deficiencies, or the quality of the seasons,
Nor can I say fortune in a few minutes;
Pointing to everyone's thunder, rain and wind,
Or tell the princes if it's okay
Predicts often that I find in paradise.
But I draw from your eyes my knowledge,
And the constant stars in them, I read such an art
As truth and beauty must prosper together
If of yourself, store, you would convert:
Or of you what I predict,
Your end is destiny and the date of truth and beauty.
Love Poem Fourteen - Modernised Shakespeare
When I consider everything that grows
Holds perfection but a little while.
That this huge stage presents only shows
Where the stars in the secret influence commentary.
When I perceive that men increase as plants,
Acclaimed and verified even by the same sky:
Vaunt in their juvenile sap, at the height drop,
And wear their state of courage of memory.
Then the vanity of this inconstant stay,
You put the richest youth in front of my sight,
Where the lost time begins with rot
To change your day of youth in dirty night,
And all at war with Time for the love of you,
As he takes you, I'll send you a new one.
Love Poem Fifteen - Modernised Shakespeare
But why do not you have a more powerful way?
To make war on this bloody tyrant Time?
And fortify yourself in your dilapidation
With more blessed means than my sterile rhyme?
Now, place yourself at the top of happy hours,
And many gardens of girls still undeveloped,
With a virtuous vow would you bring alive flowers,
Much more similar to your painted counterfeit:
The same goes for life lines that repair life
What (pencil of time) or my student pen
Neither in inner nor just fair value
Can make you the imagination of men’s minds.
To give oneself, remain motionless,
And you must live attracted by your own talent.
Love Poem Sixteen - Modernised Shakespeare
Who will believe my story in the future?
If it was filled with your highest deserts?
Although heaven knows it's only like a grave
What hides your life and does not show half of your parts:
If I could write about your pretty eyes,
And in fresh numbers, number all your graces,
The coming age would say this lying poet,
These celestial contacts never touched the earthly faces.
So, my papers (yellowed with their age)
To be despised, as old men of less truth than language,
And that your true rights are called poet rage,
And stretched meter of an ancient song.
But were some of your children still alive,
You should live there twice and in my nursery rhyme.