All for love, and nothing for reward.
Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.
Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.
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