Шекспiр. Сонет 21

Sonnet 21 by William Shakespeare

So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

Шексп?р. Сонет 21
(за мотивами)

Зда?ться, що не з тих поет?в я,
яким сп?ва? Муза т? п?сн?,
що нам мил?ш за п?сню солов'я.
Не хочеться писати так мен?…
Перлини моря, син?й небокрай,
земля, ?? садочки та га?,
духмяний кв?тень, р?чки водограй —
чудов? теми, т?льки не мо?…
Дозвольте правду, я скажу про те,
що Сонце, М?сяць та з?рок коль?,
лампад небесних сяйво золоте
в крас? мого кохання точно ?…
Пишу я про коштовн?сть цю свою,
?? я не хвалю, не продаю…