Shakespeare's Sonnets Translation Sonnet 62
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account; And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beated and chopped with tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity. 'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
The sin of self-love possesses my eyes
And my soul, and every part of my body;
And this sin there is no remedy,
It is so rooted inside my heart.
I think no other face is as gracious as mine,
No shape as perfect, no truth so valuable;
And I define my own worth by myself,
As I am worth more than all others combined.
But when my mirror shows me myself,
Beaten and chapped and aged by the sun,
I interpret my own self-love in quite the opposite way:
Self, to love your self so much would be a sin.
Thus I praise you, my self, instead of myself,
Dressing up my age with the beauty of your youth.