I. <br /> <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 /> <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 /> <br />Vermilion Ball that's given <br />From lip to lip in Heaven ; <br />Love's Couches cover-led : <br />Haste, haste, to make her bed. <br /> <br />IV. <br /> <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 /> <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 /> <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/the-rose-6/
