Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Not my own fears or a clairvoyant's
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, prediction of the future
Can yet the lease of my true love control, can control my love,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. and say it is destined to end.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, The moon has undergone eclipses,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage. and prophets of doom were wrong,
Incertainties now crown themselves assured, they are only assured of their own uncertain predictions,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. and so the olive branch (the symbol of peace) will live long.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time The soothing rain
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, rejuvenates my love, Death submits to me,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, because in spite of Him, I will live in my poetry,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes, while he destroys all that don't create lines of love,
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, and in my poetry your monument is found,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. when tyrants' tributes and gravestones fade and crumble.