Portrait of a young lady

When I read in the scroll of dead years
About fiery lips, long dumb,
About the beauty that composes the verse
For the glory of ladies and beautiful knights,

Traits kept for centuries -
Eyes, smile, hair and eyebrows -
They tell me that only in the ancient word
You could be completely reflected.

In any line to your beautiful lady
The poet dreamed of predicting you
But he could not convey all of you,

Glaring into the distance with loving eyes.
And to us, to whom you are finally close, -
Where can I get a voice to sound for centuries?
William Shakespeare