Classic Poem

But love whilst that thou maist be lov'd againe,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers,
Now whilst thy beauty beares without a staine,
Now use thy Sommer smiles ere Winter lowers.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rysing sunne
The fairest flowre that ever sawe the light,
Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done,
And (Delia) thinke thy morning must have night;
And that thy brightnes sets at length to West,
When thou wilt close up that which now thou showest;
And thinke the same becomes thy fading best,
Which then shall hide it most, and cover lowest.
Men doe not wey the stalke for that it was,
When once they finde her flowre, her glory passe.