I send you here a wreath of blossoms blown,
And woven flowers at sunset gathered,
Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed
Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown.
By this, their sure example, be it known,
That all your beauties, now in perfect flower,
Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour,
Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.
Ah, time is flying, lady - time is flying;
Nay, ’tis not time that flies but we that go,
Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying,
And of our loving parley none shall know,
Nor any man consider what we were;
Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.
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Comments
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What a great depiction of the fact that as time goes on, it us, as humans, who begin to fade and lose our lustre. Very interesting poem!
♥ Kimberly -
I gather from this poem that time is fleeting and like flowers fades away. A gentle and serene picture is painted. A very thought provoking poem as we are all on borrowed time. ~genielassie~
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