You are a tulip seen today,

But (dearest) of so short a stay

That where you grew scarce man can say.

You are a lovely July-flower

Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower

Will force you hence, and in an hour.

You are a sparkling rose i’th’bud,

Yet lost ere that chaste flesh and blood

Can show where you or grew or stood.

You are a full-spread, fair-set vine,

And can with tendrils love entwine,

Yet dried ere you distil your wine.

You are like balm enclosed (well)

In amber, or some crystal shell,

Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.

You are a dainty violet,

Yet wither’d ere you can be set

Within a virgin’s coronet.

You are the queen all flowers among,

But die you must (fair maid) ere long,

As he, the maker of this song.