I Made a posie, while the day ran by: “Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.” But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away, And withered in my hand. My hand was next to them, and then my heart; I took, without more thinking, in good part Time’s gentle admonition; Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey, Making my minde to smell my fatall day, Yet sug’ring the suspicion. Farewell, dear flowers! sweetly your time ye spent; Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, And after death for cures. I follow straight without complaints or grief; Since, if my scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours.
Life
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