Monday, Feb. 19, 2018 - 1:23 p.m.
Robert Harris late 16th C
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an old found poem
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 ruins
and the 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 merry
for having lost but once your pride
you may forever tarry
