<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345651" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ay Me, Ay Me, I Sigh the Scythe A-field</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe a-field;<br>Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to wither'd hay:<br>Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that beauty needs must yield,<br>And princes pass, as grass doth fade away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay me, ay me, that life can not have lasting leave,<br>Nor gold take hold of everlasting joy:<br>Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that time hath talents to receive,<br>And yet no time can make a suer stay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay me, ay me, that wit can not have wished choice,<br>Nor wish can win that will desires to see:<br>Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,<br>Nor study tell what afterward shall be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay me, ay me, that no sure staff is given to age,<br>Nor age can give sure wit that youth will take:<br>Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that no counsel wise and sage<br>Will shun the show that all doth mar and make.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay me, ay me, come, Time, shear on and shake thy hay,<br>It is no boot to balk thy bitter blows:<br>Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, come, Time, take everything away,<br>For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anonymous+Americas">Anonymous Americas</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345651" data-title="Ay Me, Ay Me, I Sigh the Scythe A-field de Anonymous Americas" data-description="Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe a-field; Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to wither'd hay: Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that beauty needs must yield, And princes pass, as grass doth fade away. Ay me, ay me, that life can not have lasting le..."></div> </div> </div>

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