Phyllis, be gentler, I advise; Make up for time misspent: When beauty on its deathbed lies, 'Tis high time to repent. Such is the malice of your fate: That makes you old so soon, Your pleasure ever comes too late, How early e'er begun. Think what a wretched thing is she Whose stars contrive, in spite, The morning of her love should be Her fading beauty's night. Then, if to make your ruin more, You'll peevishly be coy, Die with the scandal of a whore And never know the joy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GUY I KNOW ON 47TH AND COTTAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR POST-MORTEM by EMILY DICKINSON IN HOSPITAL: 10. STAFF NURSE: NEW STYLE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY EVENING ON CALAIS BEACH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE DEAD LARK by ALEXANDER ANDERSON WORLD-MILLER by FRANCES BARBER AT ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |