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. 
Tagged: A Song, Poetic Interludes, Poetry, Thomas Carew