Among the myrtles as I walk'd <br />Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd: <br />Tell me, said I, in deep distress, <br />Where I may find my Shepherdess? <br />--Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this? <br />In every thing that's sweet she is. <br />In yond' carnation go and seek, <br />There thou shalt find her lip and cheek; <br />In that enamell'd pansy by, <br />There thou shalt have her curious eye; <br />In bloom of peach and rose's bud, <br />There waves the streamer of her blood. <br />--'Tis true, said I; and thereupon <br />I went to pluck them one by one, <br />To make of parts an union; <br />But on a sudden all were gone. <br />At which I stopp'd; Said Love, these be <br />The true resemblances of thee; <br />For as these flowers, thy joys must die; <br />And in the turning of an eye; <br />And all thy hopes of her must wither, <br />Like those short sweets here knit together.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mrs-eliz-wheeler-under-the-name-of-thelost-sheph/
