You are a Tulip seen to-day, br But, Dearest, of so short a stay, br That where you grew, scarce man can say. br br You are a lovely July-flower; br Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower, br Will force you hence, and in an hour. br br You are a sparkling Rose i'th' bud, br Yet lost, ere that chaste flesh and blood br Can show where you or grew or stood. br br You are a full-spread fair-set Vine, br And can with tendrils love entwine; br Yet dried, ere you distil your wine. br br You are like Balm, enclosed well br In amber, or some crystal shell; br Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell. br br You are a dainty Violet; br Yet wither'd, ere you can be set br Within the virgins coronet. br br You are the Queen all flowers among; br But die you must, fair maid, ere long, br As he, the maker of this song.