Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.
Robert Herrick
(1591 - 1674)
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.
Her eyes the glowworm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Times is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may Old time is still a-flying And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying.
Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford, instead of that, a sweet and gentle word.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
Her pretty feet Like snails did creep A little out, and then, As if they started at bo-peep, Did soon draw in again.
Men are suspicious; prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
