Interesting this poem popped into my memory yesterday while sitting in traffic and admiring these wildflowers and then~it showed up as today's Writer's Almanac selection.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
"To the Virgins to Make Much of Time" by Robert Herrick. Public Domain
Ah, good old Robert Herrick, a man I feel overly obsessed with women and women as flowers, and marrying some woman named Julia of whom all parts were like a flower. I find myself faintly amused thinking of him, in conjunction with cherries and roses and womanhood.
ReplyDeletePretty much only like the first line of this.
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