But these pleasures which vanish fast

[quillori]

Beauty, Sweet Love (Sonnet XLII)
Samuel Daniel

      Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew,
Whose short refresh upon the tender green,
Cheers for a time but till the sun doth show,
And straight 'tis gone as it had never been.
      Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish,
Short is the glory of the blushing rose,
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish,
Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose.
      When thou surcharged with burden of thy years
Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth:
When time hath made a passport for thy fears,
Dated in age the Kalends of our death.
      But ah no more, this hath been often told,
      And women grieve to think they must be old.