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| ASK me no more where Jove bestows, | |
| When June is past, the fading rose; | |
| For in your beauty’s orient deep | |
| These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. | |
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| Ask me no more whither do stray | 5 |
| The golden atoms of the day; | |
| For in pure love did heaven prepare | |
| Those powders to enrich your hair. | |
| |
| Ask me no more whither doth haste | |
| The nightingale when May is past; | 10 |
| For in your sweet dividing throat | |
| She winters and keeps warm her note. | |
| |
| Ask me no more where those stars ’light | |
| That downwards fall in dead of night; | |
| For in your eyes they sit, and there | 15 |
| Fixèd become as in their sphere. | |
| |
| Ask me no more if east or west | |
| The Phœnix builds her spicy nest; | |
| For unto you at last she flies, | |
| And in your fragrant bosom dies. | 20 |
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