ECHO'S LAMENT FOR NARCISSUS

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; Yet, slower yet; O faintly, gentle springs;

List to the heavy part the music bears;

Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;

Fall grief in showers,

Our beauties are not ours;
O, I could still,

Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,

Drop, drop, drop, drop,

Since nature's pride is now a wither'd daffodil.

Ben Jonson

THE SPRING

What bird so sings, yet does so wail?
O, 'tis the ravished nightingale!
"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin-redbreast tunes his note;
Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing!
Cuckoo to welcome in the spring,
Cuckoo to welcome in the spring!

John Lyly

Goldsmith

TO PRIMROSES

FILLED WITH MORNING DEW

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! ye 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,
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimpering 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

The violet?

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 grief are, and with tears brought forth

Robert Herrick

THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven ;

The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven-

All's right with the world!

Robert Browning

SUMMUM BONUM

All the breath and the bloom of the year in the bag of one bee:

All the wonder and wealth of the mine in the heart of

one gem:

In the core of one pearl all the shade and the shine of the

sea:

Breath and bloom, shade and shine, and how far above them

Truth, that's brighter than gem, Trust, that's purer than pearl, Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe

me

In the kiss of one girl.

wonder, wealth,

all were for

Robert Browning

Robert Browning

1812-1889