1 min read
Слушать(AI)Persuasions to Enjoy
If the quick spirits in your eye Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every grace Must fly from that forsaken face; Then,
Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys. Or if that golden fleece must grow For ever free from agèd snow; If those bright suns must know no shade, Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; Then fear not,
Celia, to bestow What, still being gather'd, still must grow. Thus either Time his sickle brings In vain, or else in vain his wings.
Thomas Carew
Thomas Carew (pronounced as "Carey"[1]) (1595 – 22 March 1640) was an English poet, among the 'Cavalier' group of Caroline poets.
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Primrose
Ask me why I send you The firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to This primrose all bepearled with dew:
Eternity Of Love Protested
How ill doth he deserve a lover's name, Whose pale weak flame Cannot retain His heat, in spite of absence or disdain; But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire; True love can never change his seat, Nor did her ever l...
To His Lady
SK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties' orient deep, These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep
The Spring
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake or crystal stream; But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender; gives ...
