TO VIOLETS
Welcome, Maids of Honour!
You do bring
In the Spring,
And wait upon her.
She has Virgins many,
Fresh and fair;
Yet you are
More sweet than any.
Ye are the Maiden Posies,
And so graced
To be placed
’Fore damask roses.
But, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
TO PRIMROSES
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, you 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,
To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp’ring 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 care are, and with tears brought forth.
TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON
Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night
Hath not as yet begun
To make a seizure on the light,
Or to seal up the sun.