But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers;
Now, whilst thy beauty bears without a stain,
Now use thy Summer smiles ere Winter lours.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun,
The fairest flower that ever saw the light,
Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done;
And,
Delia, think thy morning must have night,
And that thy brightness sets at length to west,
When thou wilt close up that which now thou showest,
And think the same becomes thy fading best Which then shall hide it most and cover lowest.
Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was;
When once they find her flower, her glory pass.
