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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LVIII
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TO ONE ON HER WASTE OF TIME
 Why practise, love, this small economy
 Of your heart`s favours? Can you keep a kiss
 To be enjoyed in age? And would the free
 Expense of pleasure leave you penniless?
 Nay, nay. Be wise. Believe me, pleasure is
 A gambler`s token, only gold to--day.
 The day of love is short, and every bliss
 Untasted now is a bliss thrown away.
 `Twere pitiful, in truth, such treasures should
 Lie by like miser`s crusts till mouldy grown.
 Think you the hand of age will be less rude
 In touching your sweet bosom than my own?
 Alas, what matter, when our heads are grey,
 Whether you loved or did not love to--day?
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