Persuasions to Joy
Thomas Carew
1595 to 1640
If the quick spirits in your eye
Now languish and anon must die;
If every sweet and every grace
Must fly from that forsaken face;
Then, Celia let us reap our joys
Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.
Or if that golden fleece must grow
For ever free from agèd snow;
If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;
Then fear not, Celia, to bestow
What, still being gather’d, still must grow.
Thus either Time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings.
Thomas Carew's Persuasions to Joy
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