Depart, sweet rose -
inform her that hast her hours and me, that somehow she knows, when I compare her to thee, how lovely and darling she seems to be.

Inform her that is young, and shy's to have her sweets espied, that hadst thou sprung in lands where no men abide, thou must have unsung died.

Little is the worth of graces from the sun retired: allow her come forth, allow herself to be desired, and not rise so to be admired.

Then fade - that she the known destiny of all that's rare may see in thee; how tiny a grain of time they share that are so vastly dear and fair!