Shakespeare's Sonnets Translation Sonnet 108
What’s in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What’s new to speak, what now to register, That may express my love or thy dear merit? Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, I must each day say o'er the very same, Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Ev'n as when first I hallowed thy fair name. So that eternal love in love’s fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page, Finding the first conceit of love there bred Where time and outward form would show it dead.
What thought in my mind that ink can represent
That has not represented to you my true spirit?
What is new to speech, or what new to writing,
That can express my love or your excellent quality?
Nothing, sweet boy; but, like holy prayers,
I must write my love for you every day,
Considering no old thing old, you mine, I yours,
Just like when I first honored your beautiful name.
So that eternal love in love's new body
Does not suffer the dust and harm of aging,
But makes old age forever his page.
Finding the first idea of love grown from there
Where time and appearance makes it look like it's dead.
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