Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

And she was fair as is the rose in May.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!