Preparing for the time when my lover will be as I am now,
Crushed and worn out by the hand of cruel time;
When hours have drained his blood, and filled his forehead
With lines and wrinkles; when the morning of his youth
Has journeyed on to the deep night of old age,
And all those beauties that he rules over in the present
Are vanishing or already vanished from sight,
Stealing the treasure from his spring.
For that time, I fortify myself now
To fight against the cruel knife of destructive time,
So that he can never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though he may cut down my lover's life.
His beauty will be seen in these black lines,
And they will live on, and in them he will still be green.