For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.

I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.

Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.

Change lays her hand not upon the truth.

Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire Dividing my delight and my desire.

My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.