SPRING BEREAVED II
by: William Drummond (1585-1649)
POEMS BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND
- WEET Spring, thou turn'st with
all thy goodly train,
- Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs:
- The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
- The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show'rs.
- Thou turn'st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hours
- And happy days with thee come not again;
- The sad memorials only of my pain
- Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours.
- Thou art the same which still thou wast before,
- Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair;
- But she, whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air,
- Is gone--nor gold nor gems her can restore.
- Neglected virtue, seasons go and come,
- While thine forgot lie closèd in a tomb.