I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown, <br />And woven flowers at sunset gathered, <br />Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed <br />Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown. <br />By this, their sure example, be it known, <br />That all your beauties, now in perfect flower, <br />Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour, <br />Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown. <br /> <br />Ah, time is flying, lady - time is flying; <br />Nay, ’tis not time that flies but we that go, <br />Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying, <br />And of our loving parley none shall know, <br />Nor any man consider what we were; <br />Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.<br /><br />Pierre de Ronsard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/roses-3/
