Sir Walter Raleigh
If all the world and lover were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might we move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yeilds;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrows fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten--
In folly ripe, in reson rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and golden studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come with theee and be thy love.
But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
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