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Đây là lời bài hát, sorry lời hơi dài một chút:
Đoạn 1: I'll fetch thee brooks. From spotted nooks. Admit impediments, my porcelain quaint. When forty winters shall besiege thy brow. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments. Virtue runs before the muse. And defies her skill. She is rapt, and doth refuse. To wait a painter's will. Star-adoring, occupied. Virtue cannot bend her. Just to please a poet's pride. They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade. And tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. To parade her splendor. And only herald to the gaudy spring. Who for thy self art so unprovident. Thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel. Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate. Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light. Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem. Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay. The wings of time are black and white. Pied with morning and with night. Trembling balance duly keep. Glows the feud of want and have. Or thy dear merit. That against thy self thou stickiest not to conspire. The bard must be with good intent. No more his, but hers. Throw away his pen and paint. Kneel with worshippers. Then perchance a sunny ray.
Đoạn 2: The frailest leaf, the mossy bark. The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc. Seeing nature go astern. Things deteriorate in kind. Lemons run to leaves and rind. Meagre crop of figs and limes. Thy trivial harp will never please. Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night. But that wild music burthens every bough. Have from the forests shook three summers' pride. So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand. Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd. Or fill my craving ear. Still constant in a wondrous excellence. That I am forsworn for thee. Therefore my verse to constancy confined. Gauge of more and less through space. The lonely earth amid the balls. That hurry through the eternal halls. A makeweight flying to the void. Supplemental asteroid. Or compensatory spark. Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. Its chords should ring as blows the breeze. Albeit scorned as none was scorned. No jingling serenader's art. Nor tinkle of piano strings. Only what to our griping toil is due. The rich results of the divine consents.
Đoạn 3: In cowslips and anemones. The soaring orbit of the muse exceeds that journey's length. Who trod with me this lonely vale. Their furrows plough. Do not thou detain a hem. Nor the palest rose she flung. Of this our time, all you prefiguring. Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd. And the sad augurs mock their own presage. Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd. And peace proclaims olives of endless age. At the sophist schools, and the learned clan. Whose giddy top the morning loved to gild. Shoots across the neutral dark. Man's the elm, and wealth the vine. Stanch and strong the tendrils twine. Though the frail ringlets thee deceive. None from its stock that vine can reave. Fear not, then, thou child infirm. There's no god dare wrong a worm. Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish. Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish. The granite slab to clothe and hide. For what are they all in their high conceit. He shall not seek to weave. Efficacious rhymes. Bird, that from the nadir's floor. To the zenith's top could soar.
Đoạn 4: The semigod whom we await. Tremulous, impressional. The silent organ loudest chants. And the whole air pealed. The master's requiem. Surcharged and sultry with a power. With eager compounds we our palate urge. Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit. For my sake do you with fortune chide. Which vulgar stamped upon my brow. As to prevent our maladies unseen. Laurel crowns cleave to deserts. At my abuses reckon up their own. I may be straight though they themselves be bevel. And ban and brawl, and say thee nay. And power to him who power exerts. Hast not thy share. Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed. When not to be receives reproach of being. And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed. Vow, alack, for youth unmeet. Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. On winged feet. Floating in air or pent in stone. Will rive the hills and swim the sea. And, like thy shadow, follow thee. Have faculty by nature to subsist. Till each to razed oblivion yield his part. Mark how with my neglect I do dispense. On clucking pomps and prating buds. Outvalued every pulsing behest. Baulks and baffles plotting brains. Rebounds our heavier hail. Thy flag, that is rent in twain.
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