Mignonne

Sweet love, let's see now if the rose Which, this morning, did disclose Its crimson robes towards the sun Has this evening, more or less, Retained its folded crimson dress, Its subtle hues to match your own. Alas! See how a little while, My sweet, has shed its beauties in a pile Upon the ground below. Oh! Truly cruel Mother Nature! Since the rose can count its future Just from morning till the evening now. So, if you listen, sweetest lover, Whilst your youthful looks may flower, Their freshest newness on parade, Gather, gather in your youthfulness, For, as this flower, relentless Age will make your subtle beauty fade.