A Song: When June is Past, the Fading Rose

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
  When June is past, the fading rose;
  For in your beauty's orient deep
  These flowers as in their causes, sleep.

  Ask me no more whither doth stray
  The golden atoms of the day;
  For in pure love heaven did prepare
  Those powders to enrich your hair.

  Ask me no more whither doth haste
  The nightingale when May is past;
  For in your sweet dividing throat
  She winters and keeps warm her note.

  Ask me no more where those stars light
  That downwards fall in dead of night;
  For in your eyes they sit, and there,
  Fixed become as in their sphere.

  Ask me no more if east or west
  The phÅ“nix builds her spicy nest;
  For unto you at last she flies,
  And in your fragrant bosom dies.

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