But, oh! love’s day is short, if love decay.
Love is a growing or full constant light, 25
And his short minute, after noon, is night.
John Donne.
LXV
SONG.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties, orient deep.
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more, whither do stray 5