Shakespeare's Sonnets Translation Sonnet 132
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain; And truly, not the morning sun of heav'n Better becomes the gray cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the ev'n Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face. O let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
I love your eyes, and they, as if pitying me,
Knowing that your heart torments me with its disdain,
Have put on black, and have become loving mourners,
Looking on my pain with pretty compassion;
And truly, not even the morning sun
Looks as good in the gray clouds of the eastern sky,
Nor does the shining star that bring forth the evening
Look half as good in the calm western sky,
As those two mourning eyes look on your face.
Oh let it then suit your heart as well
To mourn for me, since mourning suits you,
And mourning dress suits your pity in every way.
Then I will swear that beauty herself is black,
And anyone who doesn't have your complexion is foul.