Poem of the day

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
by Robert Herrick (1591-1674)

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,
         And neerer he’s to Setting.

That Age is best, which 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 forever tarry.

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