ASK ME NO MORE

by: Thomas Carew (1595?-1639?)

SK me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

 

Ask me no more whither do stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

 

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past;

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters and keeps warm her note.

 

Ask me no more where those stars 'light

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixèd become as in their sphere.

 

Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

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