| | Sonnet 22 |
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old |
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So long as youth and thou are of one date; |
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But when in thee time's furrows I behold, |
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Then look I death my days should expiate. |
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For all that beauty that doth cover thee |
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Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, |
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Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me. |
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How can I then be elder than thou art? |
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O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary |
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As I, not for myself, but for thee will, |
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Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary |
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As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. |
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Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; |
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Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again. |
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| Sonnet 22 |
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I won't believe my mirror when it tells me I'm old, as long as you're still young. But when I see you with wrinkles, then I'll know death is on its way, because your beauty is as close to my heart as beautiful clothing to a body. Put another way, my heart beats in your chest and yours in mine. But if that's true, then how can I be older than you? Therefore, my love, take care of yourself just as I will take care of myself, not for my own sake, but because I have your heart inside of me, which I will protect as carefully as a nurse her baby. Don't expect to get your heart back from me when mine is dead. You gave it to me forever, never to be returned. |
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