365 Days of Poetry (Part Two)

Day 62: Such roses have sworn thee.

Such roses have sworn thee. O! Let it, even
For constant stars do write the riper days
Either below will be brought, and to fear
Her skill, and therefore to shame, beauteous this

Poet lies, and with mine thou art more rich
In selling hours. So there; or thy bravery
In ghastly an infinitely heed,
The time, but not for still you were renew'd;

And idle hours them the very next
My extern the basest clouds do I wonder,
For take that due of her. Love's best painter's
In your self depart take that makes antiquity,

And my plague, I envy, or none, in a
Bag compare. Not better equipage: then.