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 aged 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A MOURNER by ALFRED TENNYSON BLIND by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 40. LOVE BOUGHT AND SOLD by PHILIP AYRES COME UNTO ME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ON THE DEATH OF CATARINA DE ATTAYDA by LUIS DE CAMOENS |