The Rose

By Richard Lovelace

I.

Sweet serene skye-like Flower,

Haste to adorn her Bower :

   From thy long clowdy bed,

   Shoot forth thy damaske head.

II.

New-startled blush of Flora !

The griefe of pale Aurora,

   Who will contest no more ;

   Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.

III.

Vermilion Ball that's given

From lip to lip in Heaven ;

   Love's Couches cover-led :

   Haste, haste, to make her bed.

IV.

Dear Offspring of pleas'd Venus,

And Jollie, plumpe Silenus ;

   Haste, haste, to decke the Haire

   Of th' only, sweetly Faire.

V.

See ! Rosie is her Bower,

Her floore is all this Flower ;

   Her Bed a Rosie nest

   By a Bed of Roses prest.

VI.

But early as she dresses,

Why fly you her bright Tresses ?

   Ah ! I have found I feare ;

   Because her Cheekes are neere.