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To the Virgins, Make Much of Time
by Robert  Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying,
And this same flower that smiles today,
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
and while ye may, go marry;
For having lost just once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
        
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Poem ID: 243   Poem Posted: 11/16/1997
Viewed: 198585  Voted On: 3445  E-mailed: 817  Commented On: 33
 
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