Classic Poem

Looke D ELIA how w'esteeme the halse blowne Rose,
The image of thy blush and Sommers honor:
Whilst yet her tender bud doth vndisclose
That full of beauty, time bestowes vpon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the ayre,
But straight her wide blowne pomp comes to decline:
She then is scornd that late adornd the Fayre;
So fade the Roses of those cheeks of thine.
No Aprill can reuiue thy withered flowres,
Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now:
Swift speedy Time, feathred with flying houres,
Dissolues the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou such treasure wast in vaine,
But loue now whilst thou maist be lou'd againe.