Lyrical Poems
47. UPON HIS GRAY HAIRS

Robert Her

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Fly me not, though I be gray,

Lady, this I know you'll say;

Better look the roses red,

When with white commingled.

Black your hairs are; mine are white;

This begets the more delight,

When things meet most opposite;

As in pictures we descry

Venus standing Vulcan by.

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