William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
Song: ‘Ask me no more where Jove bestows’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
Those 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 downwards 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.