O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
啊，诗神，有一种真侵染于美，
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
你却不纵情讴歌，这又该当何罪？
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
真和美都仰仗我的爱而生存，
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
你也一样，缺了它就无法称作花魁。
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
回答吧，诗神，你干吗不说，
Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;"
“真自有其色不必另外增辉，
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
美自有其真容何须借重画笔，
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
天下至美，本不需杂色相随。”
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
难道是因他不需赞词你便趁机噤口，
Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
别，别这样沉默，须知你本有神威
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
让他的英名留芳于千秋万代，
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
纵然那时镀金的坟墓已变为土灰。
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
那么诗神，启开歌喉吧，听我的忠言，
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
让他于百代之后，也照样美誉满天。
