扬帆驶去抓你做珍贵的俘虏，
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
才使我成熟的思想埋在脑子里，
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
使它的出生地变成了它的坟墓？
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
难道是在精灵传授下字字珠玑、
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
笔笔神来的诗人——他打我致死？
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
不是他，也不是夜里帮他的伙计——
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
并不是他们骇呆了我的诗思。
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
他，和每夜把才智教给他同时又
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
欺骗了他的、那个殷勤的幽灵，
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
都不能夸称征服者，迫使我缄口；
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
因此我一点儿也不胆战心惊。
I was not sick of any fear from thence.
但是，你的脸转向了他的诗篇，
But when your countenance filled up his line,
我就没话说；我的诗就意兴索然。
Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine.