Let not stone-cold judgment thy love deny
For the summer of thy youth tis not lost:
Make sweet melody; all darkness defy
Where beauty strengthens, when life’s dreams be tossed.
Bow thy head not to the capricious moon,
Who shifts mindlessly without compassion,
That regret itself tis inopportune,
And futile anguish seems out of fashion;
Bear thy nakedness to the morning dawn,
Where nature doth embrace thy tender frame:
Oh yearling, death tis not thine denouement,
Truthful musings thwart this dangerous game.
Be thee joy-fill’d, and set thy heart aflame
Doff sorrows conquest; thou art not to blame.