When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The Rest complains of cares to come.
The Flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields,
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses,
Thy Cap, thy Kirtle, and thy Posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,