When June Is Past The Fading Rose

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,   When June is past, the fading rose;  For in your beauty's orient deep  These flowers as in their causes, sleep.  Ask me no more whither doth stray  The golden atoms of the day;  For in pure love heaven did prepare  Those powders to enrich your hair.  Ask me no more whither doth haste  The nightingale when May is past;  For in your sweet dividing throat  She winters and keeps warm her note.  Ask me no more where those stars light  That downwards fall in dead of night;  For in your eyes they sit, and there,  Fixed become as in their sphere.  Ask me no more if east or west  The phœnix builds her spicy nest;  For unto you at last she flies,  And in your fragrant bosom dies.