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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Rose</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">See, Mignonne, hath not the Rose, <br>That this morning did unclose <br>Her purple mantle to the light, <br>Lost, before the day be dead, <br>The glory of her raiment red, <br>Her colour, bright as yours is bright? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Ah, Mignonne, in how few hours, <br>The petals of her purple flowers <br>All have faded, fallen, died; <br>Sad Nature, mother ruinous, <br>That seest thy fair child perish thus <br>‘Twixt matin song and even tide. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=478875" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hear me, my darling, speaking sooth, <br>Gather the fleet flower of your youth, <br>Take ye your pleasure at the best; <br>Be merry ere your beauty flit, <br>For length of days will tarnish it <br>Like roses that were loveliest.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Pierre+Ronsard">Pierre Ronsard</a></strong></div>

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