To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

　　by Robert Herrick

　　 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may，

　　 Old Time is still a-flying；

　　 And this same flower that smiles today

　　 Tomorrow will be dying.

　　 The glorious lamp of heaven， the sun，

　　 The higher he's a-getting，

　　 The sooner will his race be run，

　　 And nearer he's to setting.

　　 That age is best which is the first，

　　 When youth and blood are warmer；

　　 But being spent， the worse， and worst

　　 Times still succeed the former.

　　 Then be not coy， but use your time，

　　 And while ye may， go marry；

　　 For having lost but once your prime，

　　 You may forever tarry.