IF all the world and love were young, <br />And truth in every shepherd's tongue, <br />These pretty pleasures might me move <br />To live with thee and be thy Love. <br /> <br />But Time drives flocks from field to fold; <br />When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; <br />And Philomel becometh dumb; <br />The rest complains of cares to come. <br /> <br />The flowers do fade, and wanton fields <br />To wayward Winter reckoning yields: <br />A honey tongue, a heart of gall, <br />Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. <br /> <br />Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, <br />Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, <br />Soon break, soon wither--soon forgotten, <br />In folly ripe, in reason rotten. <br /> <br />Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, <br />Thy coral clasps and amber studs,-- <br />All these in me no means can move <br />To come to thee and be thy Love. <br /> <br />But could youth last, and love still breed, <br />Had joys no date, nor age no need, <br />Then these delights my mind might move <br />To live with thee and be thy Love.<br /><br />Sir Walter Raleigh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-reply/
