½Ã°£À» ¾Ë¸®´Â º®½Ã°èÀÇ ±¥Á¾¼Ò¸®¸¦ µè°í |
When I do count the clock that tells the time |
¸ÚÁø ÇÏ·ç°¡ ¹«¼¿î ¹ã ¼ÓÀ¸·Î »ç¶óÁö°í, |
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; |
¿À¶ûij ²ÉÀÌ ½Ãµå´Â °ÍÀ» ¹Ù¶óº¸°í |
When I behold the violet past prime, |
°ËÀº ¸Ó¸®°¡ ¹é¹ß·Î º¯ÇÏ°í, |
And sable curls, all silver¡¯d o¡¯er with white; |
¸ñÀÚµéÀ» ÇÞºµÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ °¡¸®¿öÁÖ´ø |
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, |
°Å¸ñÀÇ ÀÙ»ç±Í°¡ ¶³¾îÁ® ³ª°¡°í |
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, |
¿©¸§ ³¯ÀÇ ÃʸñÀÌ ¸»¶ó ¤´ÜÀ¸·Î ¹ÀÌ°í |
And summer¡¯s green all girded up in sheaves, |
±ò²ô·± Èò ¹Ð ±ò²ô¶ó±â°¡ ¼Õ¼ö·¹¿¡ ½Ç·Á°¡¸é |
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, |
³» ±×´ëÀÇ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ» »ý°¢Çϳë´Ï |
Then of thy beauty do I question make, |
³¶ºñµÇ´Â ½Ã°£ ¼Ó¿¡ ±×´ë ¶ÇÇÑ °¡¾ß ÇÑ´Ù°í |
That thou among the wastes of time must go, |
°¨¹Ì·Î¿ò°ú ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀº ½º½º·Î¸¦ Æ÷±âÇÏ°í |
ince sweets and beauties do themselves forsake |
´ÙÀ½ ¼¼´ë°¡ ÀÚ¶ó´Â °ÍÀ» º¸´Â ¼ø°£ Á×´Â °Í. |
And die as fast as they see others grow; |
½Ã°£ÀÇ ³´¿¡ °ßµô ¼ö ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀº ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¾øÀ¸´Ï |
And nothing ¡¯gainst Time¡¯s scythe can make defence |
½Ã°£ÀÌ ±×´ë¸¦ ÀâÀ¸¸é Èļո¸ÀÌ ±×¸¦ ¸·´Â ±æÀÏ »Ó. |
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. |
±×´ë¸¦ ¿©¸§³¯¿¡ ºñÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖÀ»±î¿ä? |
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? |
±×´ë´Â ÈξÀ ´õ »ó³ÉÇÏ°í ¿ÂÈÇÕ´Ï´Ù. |
Thou art more lovely and more temperate. |
°ÅÄ£ ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ¿À´º¿ùÀÇ ±Í¿©¿î ²ÉºÀ¿À¸± Èçµé°í |
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, |
¿©¸§ÀÌ ´©¸®´Â ±â°£Àº ³Ê¹«µµ ª¾Æ |
And summer's lease hath all too short a date. |
ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ´«Àº ³Ê¹« µû°©°Ô ºû³¯ ¶§µµ ÀÖ°í |
Sometime too hot the eyes of heaven shines, |
±× Ȳ±Ýºû ¾ó±¼ÀÌ Èå·ÁÁú ¶§µµ ¸¹½À´Ï´Ù. |
And often is his gold complexion dimmed. |
¿ì¿¬À̳ª ¶Ç´Â ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ ¹«»óÇÑ ÀÌÄ¡·Î |
And every fair from fair sometime declines, |
°í¿òµµ »óÇÏ°í ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òµµ »ç¶óÁö°Ô µÇÁö¸¸ |
By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed |
±×´ë°¡ Áö´Ñ ¿µ¿øÇÑ ¿©¸§Àº »ç¶óÁöÁö ¾Ê°í |
But thy eternal summer shall not fade |
±×´ëÀÇ °í¿î ºûµµ ÀÒÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸ç |
Nor lose prossession of that fair thou owest, |
Á×À½Á¶Â÷ Á¦ ±×´Ã ¼Ó¿¡¼ ±×´ë°¡ ¹æȲÇÑ´Ù°í »Ë³»Áö ¸øÇØ¿ä. |
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade |
±×´ë°¡ ¿µ¿øÇÑ ½Ã ¼Ó¿¡¼ ½Ã°£°ú Çѵ¢¾î¸® µÉ ¶§¿¡´Â |
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st. |
»ç¶÷ÀÌ ¼û½¬°í ´«À¸·Î º¼ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ÇÑ |
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, |
ÀÌ ½Ã´Â ¿µ¿øÈ÷ ¼ûÀ» ½¯°ÍÀÌ¸ç ±×´ë¿¡°Ô »ý¸íÀ» ÁÙ °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù. |
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. |
¿î¸í°ú »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô¼ ¹ö¸²¹Þ¾ÒÀ» ¶§, |
WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men¡¯s eyes |
È¥ÀÚ¼ ¹ö¸²¹ÞÀº ½Å¼¼¸¦ ÇÑźÇÏ°í È¥ÀÚ Èå´À²¸ ¿î´Ù, |
I all alone beweep my outcast state, |
ºÎÁú¾ø´Â ¿ïºÎ¢À½À¸·Î ±Í¸Ó°Å¸® ÇÏ´ÃÀ» ±«·ÓÈ÷°í |
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, |
³» ÀÚ½ÅÀ» »ìÆ캸¸é¼ ³ªÀÇ ¿î¸íÀ» ÀúÁÖÇϵµ´Ù. |
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, |
³ªµµ Èñ¸ÁÀÌ º¸´Ù dzºÎÇÑ ±×·± »ç¶÷ÀÌ µÇ±â¸¦ ¹Ù¶ó¸ç, |
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, |
´©±¼ ´à¾Æ ¾ó±¼ÀÌ Àß »ý±â°í Ä£±¸°¡ ¸¹±â¸¦ ¹Ù¶ó¸ç, |
Featured like him, like him with friends possess¡¯d, |
ÀÌ »ç¶÷ÀÇ ÀçÁÖ¿Í Àú »ç¶÷ÀÇ ¿ª·®À» ŽÇϸç, |
Desiring this man¡¯s art, and that man¡¯s scope, |
³»°¡ °¡Áø°Í¿¡ ¹«¾ùº¸´Ùµµ ºÒ¸¸À» ´À³¢µµ´Ù. |
With what I most enjoy contented least; |
±×·¯³ª ÀÌ·± »ý°¢¿¡ Á¥¾î ³» ÀÚ½ÅÀ» °ÅÀÇ °æ¸êÇÏ´Ù°¡µµ, |
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, |
¹®µæ ±×´ë¸¦ »ý°¢Çϸé- ±×¶§ÀÇ ³» ±âºÐÀº °ð, |
Haply I think on thee, and then my state, |
»õº®³è¿¡ ¾îµÎ¿î ´ëÁö¿¡¼ ¼Ú¾Æ ¿Ã¶ó |
Like to the lark at break of day arising |
õ±¹ÀÇ ¹®Àü¿¡¼ ³ë·¡ºÎ¸£´Â Á¾´Þ»õ¿Í °°¾Æ¶ó, |
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven¡¯s gate; |
±×´ëÀÇ °í¿î »ç¶û »ý°¢ÇÏ¸é ³ª´Â ºÎ±Í¿¡ ³ÑÃÄ |
For thy sweet love remember¡¯d such wealth brings |
³ª´Â ³» óÁö¸¦ Á¦¿Õ°úµµ ¹Ù²ÙÁö ¾Æ´ÏÇϸ®¶ó. |
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. |
³» À°Ã¼ÀÇ µÐÇÑ ¹°ÁúÀÌ »ó³ä°ú °°ÀÌ °¡º±´Ù¸é, |
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, |
³ª¸¦ ±«·ÓÈ÷´Â °Å¸®(Ëå×î)µµ ³ªÀÇ ±æÀ» ¹æÇØÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®. |
Injurious distance should not stop my way; |
±×·¸´Ù¸é °ø°£¿¡ ¸ÅÀÌÁö ¾Ê°í, ³ª´Â ¸Õ ³¡À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ |
For then despite of space I would be brought, |
±×´ë ÀÖ´Â °÷À¸·Î µ¥·Á°¡Áö¸®. |
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. |
³»°¡ ¼ ÀÖ´Â °÷ÀÌ, ±×´ë °è½Å °÷À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ |
No matter then although my foot did stand |
°¡Àå ¸Õ °÷À̶ó ÇÑµé ¾î¶°¸®, |
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee; |
¹ÎøÇÑ »ó»óÀº ±×´ë°¡ ÀÖÀ» °÷À» »ý°¢¸¸ Çϸé |
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land |
°ð ¹Ù´Ù¿Í À°Áö¸¦ ¶Ù¾î³ÑÀ» ¼ö ÀÖ³ª´Ï. |
As soon as think the place where he would be. |
±×·¯³ª, ¾Æ! »ý°¢ÇÏ¸é ±«·Î¿ö¶ó, Áö±Ý ±×´ë´Â °¡°í |
But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought, |
³ª´Â ¸Õ °Å¸®¸¦ ¶Ù¾î³Ñ´Â »ó»óÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï±â¿¡, |
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, |
³ª´Â ÁÖ(ñ«)·Î ¹°°ú ÈëÀ¸·Î ¸¸µé¾îÁ³³ª´Ï |
But that, so much of earth and water wrought, |
½ÅÀ½À» ÇÏ¸ç ½Ã°£ÀÌ °¡´Â °ÍÀ» ±â´Ù·Á¾ß ÇÏ´À´Ï. |
I must attend time's leisure with my moan, |
¹°°ú Èë ÀÌ·¸°Ô ´À¸° ¼ººÐÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ¹ÞÀº °ÍÀº, |
Receiving nought by elements so slow |
½½ÇÄÀÇ ¡®¹èÁö¡¯ÀÎ ´«¹°»ÓÀ̷δÙ. |
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. |
ÀÌ ¸ðµç °Í¿¡ ½ÈÁõ³ª ³ª Á×À½À» Èñ±¸Çϳë¶ó |
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, |
Àç´ö(î¦Óì)ÀÌ °ÉÀÎ(Ë÷ìÑ)À¸·Î ÅÂ¾î³ °ÍÀ» º¸°í |
As, to behold desert a beggar born, |
°øÇã°¡ È·ÁÇÏ°Ô ¼ºÀåÇÑ °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, |
¼øÁøÇÑ ½ÅÀÇ´Â ºÒÇàÈ÷ ±â¸¸´çÇÑ °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, |
Âù¶õÇÑ ¸í¿¹°¡ ºÎ²ô·´°Ô À߸ø ÁÖ¾îÁø °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced, |
ó³àÀÇ Á¤Á¶°¡ ¹«ÂüÈ÷µµ Áþ¹âÈ÷´Â °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, |
¿Ã¹Ù¸¥ ¿Ï¼ºÀÌ ºÎ´çÇÏ°Ô ¿åÀ» ´çÇÑ °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, |
°ÇÑ ÈûÀÌ Àý¸§¹ßÀÌ¿¡ Á¦¾îµÇ¾î ¹«·ÂÈµÈ °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And strength by limping sway disabled, |
¿¹¼úÀÌ ±Ç·Â ¾Õ¿¡¼ º¡¾î¸®°¡ µÈ °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And art made tongue-tied by authority, |
¹Ùº¸°¡ ¹Ú»çÀÎ ¾ç ±â¼úÀÚ¸¦ ÅëÁ¦ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And folly doctor-like controlling skill, |
¼ÖÁ÷ÇÑ Áø½ÇÀÌ À߸ø ºÒ¸®´Â °ÍÀ» º¸°í, |
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, |
¼±ÇÑ Æ÷·Î°¡ ¾ÇÇÑ ÀûÀåÀ» ¼¶±â´Â °ÍÀ» º¼ ¶§, |
And captive good attending captain ill: |
ÀÌ ¸ðµç °Í¿¡ ½ÈÁõ ³ª ³ª Á×°íÀÚ Çϳë¶ó, |
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, |
Á×´Â °ÍÀÌ »ç¶ûÀ» µÎ°í °¡´Â °ÍÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó¸é |
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. |
±×´ë ³ª¿¡°Ô¼ ´Ê°¡À»À» º¸¸®¶ó. |
That time of year thou mayst in me behold |
´©·± ÀÙÀÌ ¸î ÀÙ ¶Ç´Â Çϳªµµ ¾øÀÌ |
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang |
»èdz¿¡ ¶°´Â ³ª¹µ°¡Áö |
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, |
°í¿î »õµéÀÌ ³ë·¡ÇÏ´ø ÀÌ ÆóÇã°¡ µÈ ¼º°¡´ë¼®À» |
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. |
³ª¿¡°Ô¼ ±×´ë ¼®¾çÀÌ ¼Ãµ¿¡ |
In me thou seest the twilight of such day |
ÀÌ¹Ì ³Ñ¾î°£ ±×·± ȲȥÀ» º¸¸®¶ó. |
As after sunset fadeth in the west, |
¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ¾È½Ä ¼Ó¿¡ ´ãÀ» Á¦2ÀÇ Á×À½. |
Which by and by black night doth take away, |
±× ¾ÏÈæÀÇ ¹ãÀÌ ´ÚÃĿà ȲȥÀ» |
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. |
±×´ë´Â ³ª¿¡°Ô¼ ÀÌ·± ºÒºûÀ» º¸¸®¶ó. |
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire |
ûÃáÀÌ Åº Àç, ÀÓÁ¾ÀÇ Ä§´ë À§¿¡ |
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, |
ºÒÀÌ ºÙ°Ô ÇÑ ¿¬·á¿¡ ¼ÒÁøµÇ¾î |
As the death-bed whereon it must expire |
²¨Á®¾ß¸¸ ÇÒ ºÒºûÀ» |
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. |
±×´ë ÀÌ°ÍÀ» º¸¸é ¾ÈŸ±î¿öÁ®. |
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, |
¿À·¡Áö ¾Ê¾Æ µÎ°í °¥ °ÍÀ» ´õ¿í´õ »ç¶ûÇϸ®¶ó. |
To love that well which thou must leave ere long. |
¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î Ä£±¸¿©, ³» »ý°¢¿£ ±×´ë´Â ´ÄÀ»¼ö ¾ø´Â °Í°°¾Æ¶ó |
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, |
³»°¡ óÀ½ ±×´ëÀÇ ¾ó±¼À» ºÃÀ» ¶§ °°ÀÌ |
For as you were when first your eye I eyed, |
Áö±Ýµµ ±×·¸°Ô ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ö¶ó. Ãß¿î °Ü¿ï¿¡ ¼¼ ¹øÀ̳ª |
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold |
³ª¹« ½£¿¡¼ ¿©¸§ÀÇ ÀÚ¶ûÀ» Èçµé¾î ¹ö·È°í, |
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, |
¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î º½ÀÌ ¼¼ ¹øÀ̳ª Ȳ±Ýºû °¡À»·Î º¯Çß¾î¶ó |
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd |
°èÀýÀÇ º¯È¸¦ ´«¿©°Ü º¸¾Ò´õ´Ï |
In process of the seasons have I seen, |
4¿ùÀÇ Çâ±â°¡ ¼¼ ¹øÀ̳ª ¶ß°Å¿î 6¿ù¿¡ ºÒÅÀ¾î¶ó |
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, |
½Ì½ÌÇÏ°í Ǫ¸£¸¥ ±×´ë¸¦ óÀ½ ºÆ¿Â ÀÌ·¡·Î |
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. |
¾Æ! ±×·¯³ª ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ̶õ ÇؽðèÀÇ ¹Ù´Ãó·³ |
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, |
±× ¼ýÀÚ¿¡¼ ¹ß°ÉÀ½µµ ¾È º¸ÀÌ°Ô µµ¸ÁÄ¡µµ´Ù |
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; |
±×´ëÀÇ °í¿î ÀÚ»öµµ ³» º¯ÇÔ¾ø´Ù°í ¿©±âÁö¸¸ |
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, |
½ÇÀº ¿òÁ÷À̸ç, ³» ´«ÀÌ ¾Æ¸¶ ¼Ó´Â °ÍÀ̷δ٠|
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: |
±× ¿°·Á ÀÖ³ª´Ï ³Ê ¾ÆÁ÷ žÁö ¾ÊÀº ¼¼´ë¿©, µéÀ¸¶ó |
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; |
³ÊÈñµéÀÌ ³ª±â Àü¿¡ ¹ÌÀÇ ¿©¸§Àº ÀÌ¹Ì Á×¾ú¾î¶ó |
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. |
Áö³ª°£ ¼¼¿ùÀÇ ±â·Ï ¼Ó¿¡¼ |
When in the chronicle of wasted time |
°¡Àå ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î »ç¶÷µéÀÌ ¹¦»ç¸¦ º¼ ¶§, |
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, |
¶Ç Á×Àº ±ÍºÎ³à¿Í ¼ö·ÁÇÑ ±â»ç(ÑÈÞÍ)¸¦ ¿¹ÂùÇϸç |
And beauty making beautiful old rime, |
¹ÌÀÎ ÁßÀÇ ¹ÌÀÎÀÇ |
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, |
¼Õ, ¹ß, ÀÔ¼ú, ´«, À̸¶¸¦ º¸¿©ÁØ |
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty¡¯s best, |
°í°¡(ͯʰ)¸¦ ¾Æ¸§´ä°Ô ¸¸µç ¹Ì¸¦ º¼ ¶§, |
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, |
³ª´Â ±×µéÀÇ ¿¾ ÇÊÄ¡°¡ |
I see their antique pen would have express¡¯d |
±×´ë°¡ Áö±Ý Áö´Ñ ¹Ì¸¦ Ç¥ÇöÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ¸·Î ¾Æ³ë¶ó. |
Even such a beauty as you master now. |
±×·¯¹Ç·Î ±× µéÀÇ ¸ðµç ¿¹ÂùÀº |
So all their praises are but prophecies |
±×´ë¸¦ ¿¹»óÇÏ°í ¿ì¸®½Ã´ë¸¦ ¿¹¾ð ÇÑ °Í¿¡ Áö³ªÁö ¾Ê³ë¶ó. |
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; |
±×µéÀº ´Ù¸¸ ÁüÀÛÇÏ´Â ´«À¸·Î º¸¾ÒÀ¸¹Ç·Î |
And, for they look¡¯d but with divining eyes, |
±×´ëÀÇ Áø°¡¸¦ ³ë·¡ÇÒ ¸¸ÇÑ ¿ª·®À» °®Áö ¸øÇß³ë¶ó. |
They had not skill enough your worth to sing: |
Áö±Ý ÀÌ Çö´ë¸¦ º¸´Â ¿ì¸®´Â |
For we, which now behold these present days, |
°æźÇÒ ´«Àº À־ Âù¹ÌÇÒ Çô´Â ¾øµµ´Ù. |
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. |
Áø½ÇÇÑ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ °áÈ¥¿¡ |
Let me not to the marriage of true minds |
¹æÇظ¦ ¿ë³³ÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®¶ó |
Admit impediments. Love is not love |
º¯È°¡ »ý±æ ¶§ º¯ÇÏ°í |
Which alters when it alteration finds, |
º¯½ÉÀÚ¿Í °°ÀÌ º¯½ÉÇÏ´Â »ç¶ûÀº »ç¶ûÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï·Î´Ù |
Or bends with the remover to remove: |
¾Æ, ¾Æ´Ï·Î´Ù! »ç¶ûÀº ¿µ¿øÈ÷ º¯Ä¡¾Ê´Â ÁöÇ¥¶ó, |
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark |
ÆødzÀ» °Þ°íµµ µ¿¿ä¸¦ ¸ð¸£´Â |
That looks on tempests and is never shaken; |
»ç¶ûÀº ¸ðµç ¹æȲÇÏ´Â ¹èÀÇ ºÏµÎ¼ºÀ̷δÙ, |
It is the star to every wandering bark, |
±× °íµµ´Â Ãø·®ÇÒ ¼ö À־ ±× Áø°¡´Â ¾Ë ¼ö ¾ø´Â |
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. |
»ç¶ûÀº ¼¼¿ùÀÇ ³î¸²°¨Àº ¾Æ´Ï¶ó |
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks |
Àå¹Ôºû ÀÔ¼ú°ú »´Àº ¼¼¿ù¿¡ Èñ»ýµÇ´õ¶óµµ, |
Within his bending sickle's compass come: |
»ç¶ûÀº ªÀº ½ÃÀÏ¿¡ º¯Ä¡ ¾Ê°í |
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, |
½ÉÆÇÀϱîÁö °ßµð¾î ³ª°¡´À´Ï¶ó |
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. |
ÀÌ°ÍÀÌ Æ²¸° »ý°¢À̶ó Áõ¸íµÈ´Ù¸é, |
If this be error and upon me proved, |
³ª´Â ±ÛÀ» ¾²Áö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®¶ó, »ç¶÷À» °áÄÚ »ç¶ûÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®¶ó |
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. |
³» ¿¬ÀÎÀÇ ´«Àº Á¶±Ýµµ ÅÂ¾ç °°Áö ¾Ê¾Æ¶ó |
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; |
»êÈ£´Â ±×³àÀÇ ÀÔ¼úÀÌ ºÓÀº °Íº¸´Ù ´õ ºÓ°í, |
Coral is far more red than her lips' red; |
´«ÀÌ Èñ´Ù¸é ±×³àÀÇ °¡½¿Àº °ËÀº Æí, |
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; |
¸Ó¸®ÅÐÀÌ ±ÝÁÙÀ̶ó¸é ±×³àÀÇ ¸Ó¸®ÅÐÀº ½ÇÁÙÀ̶ó |
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. |
³ª´Â ºÓ°íµµ Èò Àå¹Ì¸¦ º¸¾ÒÁö¸¸, |
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, |
±×³àÀÇ »´¿¡¼´Â ±×·± Àå¹Ì¸¦ º¼ ¼ö ¾ø¾î¶ó |
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; |
¾î¶² Çâ¼ö´Â ±×³àÀÇ ÀԱ躸´Ùµµ |
And in some perfumes is there more delight |
´õ ÁÁÀº ³¿»õ°¡ ÀÖ¾î¶ó |
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. |
±×³àÀÇ À½¼ºÀ» ³» »ç¶ûÇÏÁö¸¸ |
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know |
À½¾Ç¸¸Àº ¸øÇÑ °ÍÀ» ¾Æ³ë¶ó |
That music hath a far more pleasing sound; |
¿©½ÅÀÌ °È´Â °ÍÀ» ³ª´Â ¸ø º¸¾Ò°Å´Ï |
I grant I never saw a goddess go; |
³ªÀÇ ¿©½ÅÀº ¾ðÁ¦³ª ¶¥À» ¹âµµ´Ù |
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: |
±×·¯³ª ´ÜÁ¤ÄÚ ³ªÀÇ ¿¬ÀÎÀº |
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare |
±×¸©µÇ°Ô ºñÀ¯µÈ ´©±¸º¸´Ù Áø±ÍÇÏ¿©¶ó |
As any she belied with false compare. |