Now that the April of your youth adorns The garden of your face, Now that for you each knowing lover mourns, And all seek to your grace. Do not repay affection with scorns. What though you may a matchless beauty vaunt, And that all hearts can move, By such a power, as seemeth to enchant? Yet, without help of love, Beauty no pleasure to itself can grant. Then think each minute that you lose, a day; The longest youth is short, The shortest age is long; Time flies away, And makes us but his sport, And that which is not Youth's, is Age's prey. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS (THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE DIRGE [FOR FIDELE], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO BE HANGED by JONATHAN SWIFT ON IMAGINATION by PHILLIS WHEATLEY ECSTACY by KENNETH SLADE ALLING BY THE SALPETRIERE by THOMAS ASHE THE PENDULUM by JURGIS BALTRUSHAITIS |