Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose,
The beauties of they leaves disclose!
–But thou, fair Nymph, thyself survey
In this sweet offspring of day.
That miracle of face must fail,
Thy charms are sweet, but charms are frail;
Swift as the short-lived flower they fly,
At morn they bloom, at evening die;
Though Sickness yet a while forbears,
Yet Time destroys what Sickness spares;
Now Helen lives alone in fame,
And Cleopatra's but a name;
Time must indent that heavenly brow,
And thou must be what they are now.