Of surpassing beauty and in the bloom of youth.

Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy to corrupt, and cannot last; and for the most part it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of countenance; but yet certainly again, if it light well, it maketh virtue shine, and vices blush.

Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.

Gather the fleet flower of your youth, Take ye your pleasure at the best;
Be merry ere your beauty flit,
For length of days will tarnish it Like roses that were loveliest.

Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour.

Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses

Love is for every age auspicious,
But for the virginal and young
Its impulses are more propitious
Like vernal storms on meadows sprung:
They freshen in the rain of passion,
Ripening in their renovation –
And life, empowered, sends up shoots
Of richest blooms and sweetest fruits.
But at a late age, dry and fruitless,
The final stage to which we’re led,
Sad is the trace of passions dead:
Thus storms in autumn, cold and ruthless,
Transform the field into a slough,
And strip the trees from root to bough.

Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can blast the flower, Even when in most unwary hour It blooms in Fancy's bower. Age cannot Love destroy, But perfidy can rend the shrine In which its vermeil splendours shine.