HIS golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd; <br /> O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing! <br />His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd, <br /> But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing: <br />Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen; <br />Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. <br /> <br />His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; <br /> And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms, <br />A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, <br /> And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms: <br />But though from court to cottage he depart, <br />His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. <br /> <br />And when he saddest sits in homely cell, <br /> He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,-- <br />'Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, <br /> Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.' <br />Goddess, allow this aged man his right <br />To be your beadsman now that was your knight.<br /><br />George Peele<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-farewell-to-arms-to-queen-elizabeth/
