Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today;
Tomorrow 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 forever tarry.

(R Herrick)
 

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Page created 11 April 2004