I. <br />Sweet serene skye-like flower, <br />Haste to adorn her bower; <br /> From thy long clowdy bed <br /> Shoot forth thy damaske head. <br /> <br /> II. <br />New-startled blush of FLORA! <br />The griefe of pale AURORA, <br /> Who will contest no more, <br /> Haste, haste, to strowe her floore. <br /> <br /> III. <br />Vermilion ball, that's given <br />From lip to lip in Heaven; <br /> Loves couches cover-led, <br /> Haste, haste, to make her bed. <br /> <br /> IV. <br />Dear offspring of pleas'd VENUS, <br />And jollie plumpe SILENUS; <br /> Haste, haste, to decke the haire, <br /> Of th' only sweetly faire. <br /> <br /> V. <br />See! rosie is her bower, <br />Her floore is all this flower; <br /> Her bed a rosie nest <br /> By a bed of roses prest. <br /> <br /> VI. <br />But early as she dresses, <br />Why fly you her bright tresses? <br /> Ah! I have found, I feare; <br /> Because her cheekes are neere.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-lucasta-the-rose/
