$weet Violent

Ask me no more where Jove Bestows when June Is past, the Fading Roses, for In your Beauty's orient deep these Flowers, as In their cause 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 Nighttingale when May Is past; for In sweet Dividing lawn She winters, and Keeps warm Her note ask me no More where those Star's light, That downwards fall In dead of Night for In your eye's they Sit and there fixed become as In there sphere ask me no more If East or West the foundation Builds Her spicy nest; for Unto you at last She flies, And In your fragrant sweet Violent sent love thou art Absolute sole Lord I gift Writing poetry to prove the Word we'll now appeal to no None of all those thy old Poet's great and tall.