198. TO DAFFADILS
Fair Daffadils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.
199. 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.
You're the maiden posies;
And so graced,
To be placed
'Fore damask roses.
—Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.
200. THE APRON OF FLOWERS
To gather flowers, Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her lawny continent,
The treasure of the Spring.
She smiling blush'd, and blushing smiled,
And sweetly blushing thus,
She look'd as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.
Her apron gave, as she did pass,
An odour more divine,
More pleasing too, than ever was
The lap of Proserpine.