by: Ben Jonson (1572-1637)
- ERE she
was wont to go, and here, and here,
- Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow!
- The world may find the spring by following her,
- For other print her airy steps ne'er left.
- Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
- Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk.
- But like the soft west wind she shot along;
- And where she went, the flowers took thickest root,
- As she had sowed 'em with her odorous foot.
POEMS BY BEN JONSON
is reprinted from The Sad Shepherd (1641).