Go， lovely rose！

    Tell her that wastes her time and me

    That now she knows，

    When I resemble her to thee，

    How sweet and fair she seems to be.

    Tell her that's young，

    And shuns¹ to have her graces spied，

    That hadst thou sprung

    In deserts， where no men abide²，

    Thou must have uncommended died.

    Small is the worth

    Of beauty from the light retired³；

    Bid her come forth⁴，

    Suffer herself to be desired，

    And not blush so to be admired.

    Then die！ that she

    The common fate of all things rare

    May read in thee；

    How small a part of time they share

    That are so wondrous⁵ sweet and fair！