C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
A Song: ‘Ask me no more where Jove bestows’
By Thomas Carew (1595?–1639?)
A
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty’s orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat,
She winters and keeps warm her note.
That downward fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixèd become as in their sphere.
The Phœnix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.