Quan sigui el meu amor com jo soc ara,
quan el temps injuriós l'hagi abatut,
li hagi drenat la sang i omplert la cara
d'arrugues, i el matí de joventut
sigui un viatge al fons de l'alta nit,
quan les belleses sobre què ara impera
s'esvaneixin o s'hagin esvanit,
robant-li el seu tresor de primavera,
per a aquests temps, avui em faré fort,
contra l'edat de tall en tall ferida,
perquè no pugui mai segar el record
del bell i dolç amant, només la vida.
La bellesa es veurà en aquest vers negre,
que perviurà, com ell en ell alegre.
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LXIII
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 travailed 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 know 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.
William Shakespeare. Sonets. 2010
quan el temps injuriós l'hagi abatut,
li hagi drenat la sang i omplert la cara
d'arrugues, i el matí de joventut
sigui un viatge al fons de l'alta nit,
quan les belleses sobre què ara impera
s'esvaneixin o s'hagin esvanit,
robant-li el seu tresor de primavera,
per a aquests temps, avui em faré fort,
contra l'edat de tall en tall ferida,
perquè no pugui mai segar el record
del bell i dolç amant, només la vida.
La bellesa es veurà en aquest vers negre,
que perviurà, com ell en ell alegre.
──────────────────
LXIII
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 travailed 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 know 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.
William Shakespeare. Sonets. 2010