by John Milton
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth
That I to manhood am arrived so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.
滿二十三周歲
時間啊,這竊取青春的巧賊,竟這樣
迅速地用雙翅運走了我的二十三歲,
我的逝水年華匆匆地過去,
但我的暮春卻不曾開花結蕾;
我的面貌也許還不夠蒼老,
但是我確已接近成人的年歲,
我的內心更顯得不夠成熟,
遠不如那些早立業(yè)的同輩;
但不管我成熟遲早,或快或慢,
這和我既定的命運——那時間與天意
要領我達到的命運無論是(貴賤)——
仍然會嚴格符合,不爽毫厘。
只要我好自為之,一切都還是
在我的嚴厲主人監(jiān)督的眼里。