TO ONE ON HER WASTE OF TIME <br />Why practise, love, this small economy <br />Of your heart's favours? Can you keep a kiss <br />To be enjoyed in age? And would the free <br />Expense of pleasure leave you penniless? <br />Nay, nay. Be wise. Believe me, pleasure is <br />A gambler's token, only gold to--day. <br />The day of love is short, and every bliss <br />Untasted now is a bliss thrown away. <br />'Twere pitiful, in truth, such treasures should <br />Lie by like miser's crusts till mouldy grown. <br />Think you the hand of age will be less rude <br />In touching your sweet bosom than my own? <br />Alas, what matter, when our heads are grey, <br />Whether you loved or did not love to--day?<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iii-gods-and-false-gods-lviii/
