A ROSE
by: Richard Fanshawe (1608-1666)
- LOWN in
the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon.
- What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee?
- Thou'rt wondrous frolic, being to die so soon,
- And passing proud a little colour makes thee.
- If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives,
- Know then the thing that swells thee is thy bane;
- For the same beauty doth, in bloody leaves,
- The sentence of thy early death contain.
- Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower,
- If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn;
- And many Herods lie in wait each hour
- To murder thee as soon as thou art born--
- Nay, force thy bud to blow--their tyrant breath
- Anticipating life, to hasten death!
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POEMS BY RICHARD FANSHAWE |
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