That goodness Time’s rude hand defies;
That virtue lives when beauty dies.
Edmund Waller, 1605–1687.
ANCIENT SERVIAN SONG.
O my fountain, so fresh and cool,
O my rose, so rosy red!
Why art thou blown out so early?
None have I to pluck thee for!
If I plucked thee for my mother—
Ah, poor girl, I have no mother.