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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=499077" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Lucasta, the Rose</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet serene skye-like flower, <br>Haste to adorn her bower; <br>From thy long clowdy bed <br>Shoot forth thy damaske head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">New-startled blush of Flora! <br>The griefe of pale Aurora, <br>Who will contest no more, <br>Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vermilion ball, that's given <br>From lip to lip in Heaven; <br>Loves couches cover-led, <br>Haste, haste, to make her bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear offspring of pleas'd Venus, <br>And jollie plumpe Silenus; <br>Haste, haste, to decke the haire, <br>Of th' only sweetly faire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See! rosie is her bower, <br>Her floore is all this flower; <br>Her bed a rosie nest <br>By a bed of roses prest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But early as she dresses, <br>Why fly you her bright tresses? <br>Ah! I have found, I feare; <br>Because her cheekes are neere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Richard+Lovelace">Richard Lovelace</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=499077" data-title="To Lucasta, the Rose de Richard Lovelace" data-description="I. Sweet serene skye-like flower, Haste to adorn her bower; From thy long clowdy bed Shoot forth thy damaske head. II. New-startled blush of Flora! The griefe of pale Aurora, Who will contest no more, Haste, haste, to strowe her floore. ..."></div> </div> </div>
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