ANDREW MARVELL
But only with the roses plays,
And them docs tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell.
Who can foretell for what high cause This darling of the gods was born ?
Yet this is she whose chaster laws The wanton Love shall one day fear, And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke and ensigns torn. Happy who can Appease this virtuous enemy of man '
O then let me in time compound And parley with those conquering eyes,
Ere they have tried their foice to wound, Ere with their glancing wheels they drive In triumph over hearts that strive,
And them that yield but more despise
Let me be laid, Where I may see the glories from some shade.
Meantime, whilst eveiy verdant thing Itself does at thy beauty charm,
Reform the errors of the Spring; Make that the tulips may have share Of sweetness, seeing they are fair, And roses of their thorns disarm;
But most procure That violets may a longer age endure.
But O, young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;
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