A Lady Weeping.
MONTALVAN.
As when some brook flies from itself away,
The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray;
And as about the verdant plain it winds,
The meadows with a silver riband binds,
Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,
Losing herself to fill them with new sweets,
To scatter frost upon the lily's head,
And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread;