I SEND you here a wreath of blossoms blown, And woven flowers at sunset gathered, Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed Loose leaves upon the grass at random¹ strown. By this, their sure example, be it known, That all your beauties, now in perfect flower, Shall fade as these, and wither² in an hour, Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.

    Ah, time is flying, lady - time is flying； Nay³, 'tis not time that flies but we that go, Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying, And of our loving parley⁴ none shall know, Nor any man consider what we were； Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.