Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow 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.
The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood...
From “Idyls of the King: Guinevere”
THE QUEEN looked up, and said,
“O maiden, if indeed you list to sing,
Sing, and unbind my heart, that I may weep.”
Whereat full willingly sang the little maid:
“Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!
Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.
Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now...
