Oh, cuánto más bella es la belleza
Si tiene la verdad por dulce ornato;
La rosa, si admirable, más se admira
Por la dulce fragancia que despide.
Las flores de la zarza lucen tintes
Profundos, cual la rosa perfumada,
También tienen espinas y retozan
Si la brisa entreabre sus capullos;
Mas toda su virtud es apariencia:
Germinan apartadas, se marchitan,
Y mueren solas. Mas la rosa deja
Un dulce aroma tras su dulce muerte.
Y tú joven bello y adorable,
Si te agostas, aquí estás destilado.

O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live.
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth.