The Nymph’s Reply

If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall. Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, the kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs; All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love.

Collection: 
English
1572
Sir Walter Raleigh
Sub Title: 
IV. Wooing and Winning

More from Poet

  • The Lye

    Goe, soule, the bodie’s guest, Upon a thanklesse arrant; Feare not to touche the best— The truth shall be thy warrant; Goe, since I needs must dye, And give the world the lye. Goe tell the court it glowes And shines like rotten wood; Goe tell the church it showes What ’s good,...

  • Lines found in his Bible in the Gate-house at Westminster

    E’en such is time; that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days: But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust...

  • The Pilgrimage

    Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope’s true gauge; And thus I ’ll take my pilgrimage! Blood must be my body’s balmer, No other balm will there be given; Whilst my soul, like quiet...

  • The Nymph’s Reply

    If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complain of cares to come....

  • The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

    If all the world and love were young,
    And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
    These pretty pleasures might me move
    To live with thee and be thy love.

    Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
    When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
    And Philomel becometh dumb;...