ضروري ارجوكم sonnet 17

[طيف أوراقي]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته
لو سمحتوا ابغى منكم شرح بالانجليزي لsonnet 17 of willam shakespeare
دورت في النت ومالقيت
جزاكم الله خير الجزاء
VVho will believe my verſe in time to come
If it were fild with your moſt high deſerts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life , and ſhewes not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would ſay this Poet lies,
Such heavenly touches near touch earthly faces.
So ſhould my papers (yellowed with their age)
Be ſcorn'd,like old men of less truth then tongue,
And your true rights be termd a Poets rage,
And ſtretched miter of an Antique ſong.
But were ſome childe of yours aliue that time,
You ſhould liue twiſe in it,and in my rime.

[طيف أوراقي]

ارجو المساعده

[طيف أوراقي]

ارجوا المساعده

[THE EXPERT]

MODERN TEXT

Who in the future will ever believe my poetry if I praise you as you deserve? Though, I have to admit, my poetry is like a tomb that actually hides what you are really like and doesn’t manage to show even half of your true qualities. If I could capture in my writing how beautiful your eyes are and create new verses to list all of your wonderful attributes, decades from now people would say, “This poet lies. No human face was ever so divine.” In this way, my poems (yellowed with age), would be scorned, like old men who talk too much without saying anything true, and what is really your due would be dismissed as a poet’s madness, the false verses of an old song. But if some child of yours were still alive then, you would live twice: in the child, and in my poetry.

في المرفقات ستجدين شرح مفصل لكل بيت من بيوت القصيده

وبالتوفيق للجميع

[طيف أوراقي]

مشكور اخي العزيز اكسبرت جزاك الله خير
وحفظ والدك من كل مكروه
تحياتي/طيف اوراقي