Oh, that a joy so soon should waste,
Or so sweet a bliss as a kiss
Might not forever last!
So sugared, so melting, so delicious.
The dew that lies on roses,
When the morn herself discloses,
Is not so precious.
Oh, rather than I would it smother
Were I to taste such another.
It should be my wishing
That I might die kissing.
Ben Jonson
(Poetry of the English Renaissance 1509-1660)
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