  Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise; Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise Yet we each day grow older. Thine eyes like twin stars shining; But ere another day be sprung All these will be declining. Then winter comes with all his fears, And all thy sweets shall borrow; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,— And I too late shall sorrow! Anon. |
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