I made a posy, while the day ran by; |
Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie |
My life within this band. |
But time did beckon to the flowers, and they |
By noon most cunningly did steal away, |
And withered in my hand.
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My hand was next to them, and then my heart: |
I took, without more thinking, in good part |
Time’s gentle admonition : |
Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey, |
Making my mind to smell my fatal day; |
Yet sug’ring the suspicion.
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Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, |
Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, |
And after death for cures. |
I follow straight without complaints or grief, |
Since if my scent be good, I care not, if |
It be as short as yours.
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George Herbert |
Classic Poems |
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