40. Song
—— T. Carew
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading ro;
For in your beauty’s orient deep
The flowers, as in their caus, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Tho powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where tho stars’ light.
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed bee as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spiest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.