Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show, And straight 'tis gone as it had never been. Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish, Short is the glory of the blushing rose; The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose. When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years, Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth; And that, in Beauty's Lease expired, appears The Date of Age, the Calends of our Death -- But ah, no more! -- this must not be foretold, For women grieve to think they must be old. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABRAHAM LINCOLN WALKS AT MIDNIGHT by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY YOUTH, DAY, OLD AGE AND NIGHT by WALT WHITMAN TO A BIRCH TREE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING EARLY DEATH AND FAME by MATTHEW ARNOLD THREE PASTORAL ELEGIES: TO THE READER (1) by WILLIAM BASSE BEATRICE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE JOB. OUT OF THE WHIRLWIND by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |