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But you are lovely leaves, where we
FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see
Until the hasting day
But to the even-song;
And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you,
As quick a growth to meet decay
As your hours do, and dry
Like to the Summer's rain,
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
WELCOME, Maids of Honour!
You do bring
In the Spring,
And wait upon her.
She has Virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.
Ye are the Maiden Posies,
And so graced
To be placed
'Fore damask roses.
But, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak grief in you,
Who were but born
Just as the modest morn
Teemed her refreshing dew?
Alas, you have not known that shower
That mars a flower;
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warped as we,
Who think it strange to see
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason, why
Ye droop and weep;
Is it for want of sleep?
Or childish lullaby?
Or that ye have not seen as yet
Or brought a kiss
From that sweetheart to this?
No, no, this sorrow shown
By your tears shed,
Would have this lecture read,
That things of greatest, so of meanest, worth, Conceived with care are, and with tears brought forth.
TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON
SHUT not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Hath not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
No marigolds yet closed are,
No shadows great appear;
Stay but till my Julia close
Her life-begetting eye,
And let the whole world then dispose
TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME
GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may,
And this same flower that smiles to-day
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The sooner will his race be run,
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time;
A SWEET disorder in the dress
An erring lace, which here and there
I see a wild civility,—
Do more bewitch me, than when art
WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
O how that glittering taketh me!
CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING
GET up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the east, Above an hour since; yet you not drest
Nay! not so much as out of bed,
When all the birds have matins said,