What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Had it lived long, is would have been
Lilies without, roses within.
How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness.
And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest.
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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