To the Virgins,
To Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tommorrow will be dying.
The gloriious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Time still suceed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, while ye may, go merry;
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry...
by Robert Herrick