Whenas you gather flowers about this fountain,
Bid Her farewell who placed here her pleasure;
And sing her praises to the stars and moon!

Among the lesser lights as is the Moon,

Blushing through scarf of clouds on Latmos mountain
Or when her silver locks she looks for pleasure
In Thetis' stream proud of so gay a treasure,
Such was my Fair when she sat by this fountain,
With other nymphs, to shun the amorous Sun.

As is our earth in absence of the sun,
Or when of sun deprivèd is the moon,
As is without a verdant shade a fountain,

Or wanting grass a mead, a vale, a mountain,-
Such is my state, bereft of my dear treasure,
To know whose only worth was all my pleasure.

Ne'er think of pleasure, heart!-eyes! shun the sun;
Tears be your treasure, which the wandering moon
Shall see you shed, by mountain, vale, and fountain.

DRUMMOND

63

SWEET

MADRIGAL

WEET ROSE! whence is this hue
Which doth all hues excel?

Whence this most fragrant smell?

And whence this form and gracing grace in you?
In flowery Postum's field perhaps ye grew,
Or Hybla's hills you bred,

Or odoriferous Enna's plains you fed,
Or Tmolus, or where boar young Adon slew.
Or hath the Queen of Love you dyed of new
In that dear blood, which makes you look so red?
No! none of these, but cause more high you bliss'd:
My Lady's breast you bare, and lips you kiss'd.

MADRIGAL

DÆDAL of my death

A —
А

I semble now that subtle worm uneath :
Which, prone to its own ill, can take no rest :
For, with strange thoughts possess'd,

I feed on fading leaves

Of hope, which me deceives

And thousand webs doth warp within my breast.
And thus in end unto myself I weave

A fast-shut prison— No! but even a grave.

WILLIAM BROWNE

VENUS AND ADONIS

ENUS by Adonis' side.

Crying kiss'd and kissing cried; Wrung her hands and tore her hair For Adonis dying there.

Stay! quoth she: O stay and live!
Nature surely doth not give

To the earth her sweetest flowers
To be seen but some few hours.

On his face, still as he bled,

For each drop a tear she shed, Which she kiss'd or wiped away,—

Else had drown'd him where he lay.

Fair Proserpina, quoth she,

Shall not have thee yet from me;

Nor thy soul to fly begin

While my lips can keep it in.

Here she closed again. And some Apollo would have come

Say

To have cured his wounded limb,— But that she had smother'd him.

ROBERT HERRICK

GLI

THE TEAR

LIDE, gentle Streams! and bear
Along with you my tear

To that coy Girl

Who smiles, yet slays

Me with delays,

And strings my tears as pearl.

See! see! She's yonder set,
Making a carcanet

Of maiden flowers:
There, there present
This orient

And pendant pearl of ours!

Then say I've sent one more

Gem to enrich her store;
And that is all

Which I can send

Or vainly spend,

For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply

Of them, the springs once dry;

But I'll devise

L

(Among the rest)

A way that's best

How I may save mine eyes.

Yet say, should She condemn
Me to surrender them,—

Then say, my part

Must be to weep

Out them, to keep

A poor yet loving heart.

Say too, She would have this:
She shall. Then my hope is
That, when I'm poor,

And nothing have

To send or save,

I'm sure She 'll ask no more.

R

TO WATER-NYMPHS

DRINKING AT A FOUNTAIN

EACH with your whiter hands to me

Some crystal of the spring!

And I about the cup shall see

Fresh lilies flourishing.

Or else, sweet Nymphs! do you but this:
To the glass your lips incline,
And I shall see by that one kiss
The water turn'd to wine.