To the Virgins, To Make much of TimeGather ye rose-buds while ye may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles today,	Tomorrow will be dying.The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,	The higher he’s a-getting,The sooner will his race be run,	And nearer he is to setting.That age is best which is the first,	When youth and blood are warmer;But being spent, the worse, and worst	Times still succeed the former.Then be not coy, but use your time,	And while you may, go marry;For having lost but once your prime,	You may for ever tarry.
Robert  Herrick
life, living, poetry, time