(Note: the following is in the public domain)

Poem by Sir Walter Raleigh

As at noon Dulcina rested
In her sweet and shady bower;
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lap to sleep an hour.
But from her look
A wound he took
So deep, that for a further boon
The nymph he prays.
Whereto she says,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

But in vain did she conjure him
To depart her presence so;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him go:
Where lips invite,
And eyes delight,
And cheeks, as fresh as rose in June,
Persuade delay;
What boots, she say,
Forgo me now, come to me soon?

He demands what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now:
She says, night gives loves that leisure,
Which the day cannot allow.
He says, the sight
Improves delight.
Which she denies: Night's murky noon
In Venus' plays
Makes bold, she says;
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

But what promise or profession
From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beauty for a hope?
Or for the sight
Of lingering night
Forgo the present joys of noon?
Though ne'er so fair
Her speeches were,
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

How, at last, agreed these lovers?
She was fair; and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers;
Joys unseen are never sung.
Did she consent,
Or he relent:
Accepts he night, or grants she noon;
Left he her a maid,
Or not; she said
Forgo me now, come to me soon.

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