TO MEADOWS.
Ye have been fresh and green,
Ye have been filled with flowers;
And ye the walks have been
Where maids have spent their hours.
Ye have beheld where they
With wicker arks did come,
To kiss and bear away
The richer cowslips home.
You’ve heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like the spring,
With honeysuckles crowned.
But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with disheveled hair
Adorned this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown,
You’re left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.
Robert Herrick, 1591.