O shady vale, O fair enriched meads,
O sacred woods, sweet fields, and rising mountains;
O painted flowers, green herbs where Flora treads,
Refreshed by wanton winds and watery fountains!
O all ye winged choristers of wood,
That perched aloft, your former pains report;
And straight again recount with pleasant mood
Your present joys in sweet and seemly sort!
O all you creatures whosoever thrive
On mother earth, in seas, by air, by fire;
More blest are you than I here under sun!
Love dies in me, whenas he doth revive
In you; I perish under Beauty’s ire,
Where after storms, winds, frosts, your life is won.
ANONYMOUS
I SAW MY LADY WEEP
I saw my Lady weep,
And Sorrow proud to be advanced so
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
Her face was full of woe,
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.
Sorrow was there made fair,
And Passion, wise; Tears, a delightful thing;
Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare:
She made her sighs to sing,
And all things with so sweet a sadness move
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.
O fairer than aught else
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve!
Enough, enough: your joyful look excels:
Tears kill the heart, believe.
O strive not to be excellent in woe,
Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow.