Nature, that washed her hands in milk, <br />And had forgot to dry them, <br />Instead of earth took snow and silk, <br />At love's request to try them, <br />If she a mistress could compose <br />To please love's fancy out of those. <br /> <br />Her eyes he would should be of light, <br />A violet breath, and lips of jelly; <br />Her hair not black, nor overbright, <br />And of the softest down her belly; <br />As for her inside he'd have it <br />Only of wantonness and wit. <br /> <br />At love's entreaty such a one <br />Nature made, but with her beauty <br />She hath framed a heart of stone; <br />So as Love, by ill destiny, <br />Must die for her whom nature gave him <br />Because her darling would not save him. <br /> <br />But time, which nature doth despise <br />And rudely gives her love the lie, <br />Makes hope a fool, and sorrow wise, <br />His hands do neither wash nor dry; <br />But being made of steel and rust, <br />Turns snow and silk and milk to dust. <br /> <br />The light, the belly, lips, and breath, <br />He dims, discolors, and destroys; <br />With those he feeds but fills not death, <br />Which sometimes were the food of joys. <br />Yea, time doth dull each lively wit, <br />And dries all wantonness with it. <br /> <br />Oh, cruel time, which takes in trust <br />Our youth, or joys, and all we have, <br />And pays us but with age and dust; <br />Who in the dark and silent grave <br />When we have wandered all our ways <br />Shuts up the story of our days.<br /><br />Sir Walter Raleigh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nature-that-washed-her-hands-in-milk/
