Minden porcikád, mit lát a világ,

hiánytalan, hibátlan, ragyogó.

Szépségért neked jár az, ami jár,

mit ellenség se vitat, vagy rossz szó.

Küllemed, ki nézi, azt dicséri,

de számára a látvány mást jelent,

amit keres, azzal összeveti,

tovább lát annál, mit a szem teremt…

Lelkedbe jó mélyen belenéznek,

becsülgetik "virágod", hogy milyen -,

- hitvány közönség, kedves tekintet,

s gyom szagára gondolnak eközben…

S vajon miért üt el tőled illatod,

hétköznapi vagy, - tőlük ezt kapod...

Word for word:

Every bit of you that the world can see,

complete, flawless, shining.

For beauty you deserve what is deserved,

which no enemy disputes, nor ill word.

Your appearance—who looks, praises it,

but for them the sight means something else,

they compare it with what they seek,

they see beyond what the eye creates…

They look deep into your soul,

they assess your "flower," what it is like –,

– worthless crowd, with kind glance,

yet they think of weed’s smell meanwhile…

And why does your fragrance differ from you,

ordinary you are, – this is what you get from them…

Original: LXIX.

Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view

Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;

All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,

Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.

Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown’d;

But those same tongues that give thee so thine own

In other accents do this praise confound

By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.

They look into the beauty of thy mind,

And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;

Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,

To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:

But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,

The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.