Ext Morning when the golden Sunne was risen,
And new had bid good morrow to the Mountaines;
When Night her siluer light had lockt in prison,
Which gaue a glimmering on the christall Fountaines:
Then ended sleepe: and then my cares began,
Eu'n with the vprising of the siluer Swan.
O glorious Sunne quoth I, (viewing the Sunne)
That lightenst euerie thing but me alone:
Why is my Summer season almost done?
My Spring-time past, and Ages Autumne gone?