While competing with your golden hair,
The bright sun shines in vain through the skies,
And while scorned in your pure face lies
The lily, less white and far less fair;
While to every lip, every tender sigh,
Follows more eyes than to the early dawn,
And while your fair neck, to all gazes drawn,
Outshines bright crystal’s tranquil clarity:
Enjoy your neck, your hair, your lips, your face,
Before the time comes, glowing with disdain,
To claim the chill of snow for your complexion,
And turn your laughter and your lovely grace
Into dust, into shadow, into nothing.