Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me
That now she knows
When I resemble her to thee
How sweet and fair she seems to be

Tell her that’s young
And shuns to have her graces spied
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide
Thou must have uncommended died

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth
Suffer herself to be desired
And not blush so to be admired

Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!