Thy fingers make early flowers of br all things. br thy hair mostly the hours love: br a smoothness which br sings,saying br (though love be a day) br do not fear,we will go amaying. br br thy whitest feet crisply are straying. br Always br thy moist eyes are at kisses playing, br whose strangeness much br says;singing br (though love be a day) br for which girl art thou flowers bringing? br br To be thy lips is a sweet thing br and small. br Death,Thee i call rich beyond wishing br if this thou catch, br else missing. br (though love be a day br and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).