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From fairest creatures we desire increase,From fairest creatures we desire increase
From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed’st thy light’st flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
We want beautiful creatures to have more offspring, So that beauty's rose will never die, But as the mature one should die with time, His gentle heir can carry on his memory; But you, focused on your own bright eyes, Feed your own light with your own essence, Creating scarcity where there is plenty, You are your own enemy, too harsh to yourself. You who are now the world's fresh decoration And the only messenger of the bright spring, You bury your happiness within your own bud, And, gentle miser, waste by hoarding. Pity the world, or be this greedy person, Consuming what the world deserves, by death and you.