求一英语诗

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
and dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery,so gazed on now,
Will be a tolltered weed of small worth held:
Then being asked where all thy beauty lies--
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days------
To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes
Were an all -eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer,"This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse"--
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.