Poetic Interlude LXXX

A Song
By Thomas Carew
 
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty’s orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
 
Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightengale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat,
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

 
Ask me no more where those stars ‘light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if East or West
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,
And, in your fragrant bosom, dies. 
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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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