
te 
THE FIETRY OF FI JWERS. 
We have short time to stay as ye, 
We have as fleet a spring, 
As quick a growth to meet decay 
As you or any thing ; 
We die 
As your hours do, and dry 
Away, 
Like to the summer’s rain, 
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew, 
Ne’er to be found again. 
—o— 
THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS. 
BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
SWEET violets, love’s paradise, that spread 
Your gracious odours, which you, couched, bear 
Within your paly faces, 
Upon the gentle wing of some calm -breathing 
wind, 
That plays amidst the plain! 
If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain, 
Sach grace as in my lady’s bosom place to find, 
Be proud to touch those places: 
And when her warmth your moisture forth doth 
wear, 
Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed, 


















