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SONNET 2 |
PARAPHRASE |
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When forty winters shall
beseige thy brow, |
Forty years from now, when your brow is wrinkled with age, |
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And dig deep trenches in thy
beauty's field, |
And you are showing all the other signs of aging, |
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Thy youth's proud livery, so
gazed on now, |
The pride and greatness of your youth, so much admired by everyone
now, |
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Will be a tatter'd weed, of
small worth held: |
Will be worth as little as a tattered weed: |
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Then being ask'd where all
thy beauty lies, |
Then, when you are asked 'where is your beauty now?', |
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Where all the treasure of
thy lusty days, |
And, 'where are all the treasures you had during your days of lust?' |
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To say, within thine own
deep-sunken eyes, |
You must say only within your own eyes, now sunk deep in their
sockets, |
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Were an all-eating shame and
thriftless praise. |
Where lies a shameful confession of greed and
self-obsession. |
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How much more praise
deserved thy beauty's use, |
If you would have only put your beauty to a greater use, |
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If thou couldst answer 'This
fair child of mine |
If only you could have answered 'This fair child of mine |
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Shall sum my count and make
my old excuse,' |
Shall give an account of my life and prove that I made no misuse of my
time on earth.' |
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Proving his beauty by
succession thine! |
Proving that his beauty, because he is your son, was once yours! |
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This were to be new made
when thou art old, |
This child would be new-made when you are old, |
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And see thy blood warm when
thou feel'st it cold. |
And you would see your own blood flow warm through him when you are
cold. |