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Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck’d, soon vaded,Pluck’d in the bud and vaded in the spring!Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded!Fair creature, kill’d too soon by death’s sharp sting!Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;For why thou left’st me nothing in thy will;And yet thou left’st me more than I did crave;For why I craved nothing of thee still.O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.