Gather ye rosebuds while ye may

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 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.



That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, 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 for ever tarry.
 
Robert Herrick
 
Grosart's Text