ROSE. 
141 
father YE ROSE-BUDS. 
HERRICK. 
Gather ye rose-buds 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, 
The nearer he’s a-setting. 
That age is best, that 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. 
ROSES. 
LEIGH HUNT. 
We are blushing roses, 
Bending with our fulness, 
’Midst our close-capped sister buds. 
Warming the green coolness. 
