by Luis G. Dato
O dear, as each day passes we grow old
And those smooth cheeks each time I would fain kiss,
And those warm lips, the vortex of my bliss
Will not forever Time’s assault to with hold.
Time has its bounds, the passing hours are gold,
And ne’er far-off the ultimate abyss,
For worldly pleasure ever transient is —
Tis wisdom, dear, not folly to be bold.
Take then the flowers that shed scent on your way.
And hearken to the bird that warbles to his mate,
Your scruples all, your dark qualms put away,
My goddess dear, for time is running late,
O hear me calling you each close of day,
With throbs immortal, I your step await.