Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air

Out of this nettle - danger - we pluck this flower - safety.

Death lies on her like an untimely frostUpon the sweetest flower of all the field.

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,Though to itself it only live and die.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit, For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy