|
ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither doth stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet, dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies. ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither doth stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet, dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies. ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauty's orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither doth stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet, dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies. | ASK me no more where Jove bestows, | | | When June is past, the fading rose; | | | For in your beauty's orient deep | | | These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. | | | | | Ask me no more whither do stray | 5 | | The golden atoms of the day; | | | For in pure love heaven did prepare | | | Those powders to enrich your hair. | | | | | Ask me no more whither doth haste | | | The nightingale when May is past; | 10 | | For in your sweet dividing throat | | | She winters and keeps warm her note. | | | | | Ask me no more where those stars 'light | | | That downwards fall in dead of night; | | | For in your eyes they sit, and there | 15 | | Fixèd become as in their sphere. | | | | | Ask me no more if east or west | | | The Phoenix builds her spicy nest; | | | For unto you at last she flies, | | | And in your fragrant bosom dies. | 20 |
|
