It's not time but we ourselves who pass,
And soon beneath the silent tomb we lie:
And after death there'll be no news, alas,
Of these of which we are so full:
So love me now, while you are beautiful.
And soon beneath the silent tomb we lie:
And after death there'll be no news, alas,
Of these of which we are so full:
So love me now, while you are beautiful.
Ronsard
