Delia: Sonnet 34

LOoke Delia how we steeme the half blowne Rose,
The image of thy blush, and Sommers honour:
Whilst in her tender greene shee doth inclose,
The pure sweet beauty Time bestowes vpon her.
No sooner spreades her glory in the ayre,
But straight her ful-blowne pride is in declining;
Shee then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fayre:
So clowdes thy beauty after fairest shining.
No Aprill can reuiue thy withred flowers,
Whose blooming grace adornes thy glory now:
Swift speedy Time, feathred with flying howers,
Dissolues the beautie of the fairest brow.
O let not then such riches waste in vaine,
But loue whilst that thou maist be lou'd againe.