Sonnet 54

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem

By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem

For that sweet odour which doth in it live.

The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye

As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,

Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly

When summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses;

But, for their virtue only is their show,

They live unwoo’d and unrespected fade,

Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth:

When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

Beauty is so much more beautiful

When the ornament is backed by worth.

The rose looks nice, but isn’t it more graceful

When its scent pours from the earth?

A rotten rose has just as red, white, or pink a dye,

Just as much depth of color,

Hangs also on thorns, opens to the same sky,

And to the eye has just as much flavor.

But because the attraction lies only in show,

Roses like it live unloved and fade,

Dying alone. With sweet roses, it is not so.

From their sweet deaths, teas and perfumes are made.

And so it is with your young lovely body.

When it goes your scent will be sweet still in poetry.