Gather ye rosebuds as ye may,
     Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower  that smiles to-day
     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.

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

Then be not coy, but use your time,
     And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
     You may forever tarry.

Robert Herrick

FAIRIES' SONG

We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter;
Stolen kisses much completer;
Stolen looks are nice in chapel'
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing, 
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

Thomas Randolph (latin) translation of Leigh Hunt
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