To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time 
    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
        Old time is still a-flying:
    And this same flower that smiles to-day
        To-morrow will be dying.

    The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
        The higher he's a-getting,
    The sooner will his race be run,
        And nearer he's to setting.

    That age is best which is the first,
        When youth and blood are warmer;
    But being spent, the worse, and worst
        Times still succeed the former.

    Then be not coy, but use your time,
        And while ye may go marry:
    For having lost but once your prime
        You may for ever tarry.

                          Robert Herrick