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 perfumed tincture of the roses.
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer’s breath their masked 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 vade, by verse distills your truth.
In plain English
Beauty shines brightest when it's paired with something real — with truth, integrity, honesty. A rose looks lovely, sure, but we love it even more because it actually smells wonderful. That scent is real.
There are fake roses — weeds that bloom just as colorful, hanging on thorns, just as showy when summer arrives. But they're all appearance and no substance. Nobody wants them. They fade without a trace, dead to themselves, forgotten.
Real roses, though, leave something behind. Even when they wilt, they become perfume — they transform into something that lasts. And you're like that: beautiful and young, but your real beauty is your character. When your youth fades, my poems will distill and preserve what's genuinely true about you.
