But love whilst that thou mayst be loved again,
Now whilst thy May hath filled thy lap with flowers,
Now whilst thy beauty bears without a stain,
And whilst thou spread’st unto the rising sun
The fairest flower that ever saw the light,
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 shew’st;
And think the same becomes thy fading best
Which then shall most inveil and shadow most.
Men do not weigh the stalk for what it was,
When once they find her flower, her glory, pass.
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