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 />Loves 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/to-lucasta-the-rose-2/
