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Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in mens eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall oer-read, And tongues to be your being shall rehearse When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. 无论我将活着为你写墓志铭， 或你未亡而我已在地下腐朽， 纵使我已被遗忘得一干二净， 死神将不能把你的忆念夺走。 你的名字将从这诗里得永生， 虽然我，一去，对人间便等于死; 大地只能够给我一座乱葬坟， 而你却将长埋在人们眼睛里。 我这些小诗便是你的纪念碑， 未来的眼睛固然要百读不厌， | 
