WHILE this green month is fleeting, Oh! come, my pretty sweeting, Waste not in vain thy ring-time! Sly age, ere we've an inkling Thereof, our hair is sprinkling -- He passeth even as Spring-time. Then, while, our life is crying For love, and Time is flying, Come, love, come reap desire. Pass love from vein to vein! Swift comes old Death -- and then All joys expire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WILDERNESS TRANSFORMED by PHILIP DODDRIDGE ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGINE by MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS SONNET: 130 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE PESSIMIST AND OPTIMIST by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 5 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON PSALM 5. VERBA MEA AURIBUS by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |