I’m sending you some flowers, that my hand
Picked just now from all this blossoming,
That, if they’d not been gathered this evening,
Tomorrow would be scattered on the ground.
Take this for an example, one that’s sound,
That your beauty, in all its flowering
Will fall, in a moment, quickly withering,
And like the flowers will no more be found.
Time goes by, my lady: time goes by,
Ah! It’s not time but we ourselves who pass,
And soon beneath the silent tomb we lie:
And after death there’ll be no news, alas,
Of these desires of which we are so full:
So love me now, while you are beautiful.