三

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her prime; 
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, 
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
But if thou live rememb'red not to be, 
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
你是你母亲的镜子，在你里面
她唤回她盛年的芳菲四月；
同样，从你暮年的窗你将眺见——
纵皱纹满脸——你这黄金的岁月。
但是你活着不愿被人惦记，
就独自死去，你的肖像和你一起。