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 distill 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 withered, ere you can be set
Within the 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.