名人诗歌|THE SONNETS by William Shakespeare (21)

XXI

So is it not with me as with that Muse^{1, Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament2 doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare' With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems3, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare, That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems4. O！ let me, true in love, but truly write, And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air： Let them say more that like of hearsay5 well； I will not praise that purpose not to sell.}