If all the world and love were young,

And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,

These pretty pleasures might me move

To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flock from field to fold,

When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;

And Philomel becometh dumb;

The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields

To wayward winter reckoning yields;

A honey tongue, a heart of gall

Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

Thy gowns, they shoes, thy bed of roses,

thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,

In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,

Thy coral clasps and amber studs,

All these in me no mean can move

To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,

Had joys no date nor age no need,

Then these delight my mind might move

To live with thee and be thy love.

—Sir Walter Releigh

Advertisements

Mag-iwan ng Tugon

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Baguhin )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Baguhin )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Baguhin )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Baguhin )

Connecting to %s