Ease my sick head Thou Power that canst sever And quickly still, Thou sweetly canst convert the same May think thereby 'Mongst roses. Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden showers For heaven! Robert Herrick. 209 TO THE ROSE: A SONG Go, happy Rose, and, interwove Say, if she's fretful, I have bands I have myrtle rods (at will) WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teem'd her refreshing dew? Alas! you have not known that shower Nor felt th' unkind Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, such like to orphans young, Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known Ye droop and weep. Is it for want of sleep Or that ye have not seen as yet 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, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth. Robert Herrick. THOU art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids, distress'd When once the lover's rose is dead Then willow-garlands 'bout the head When with neglect, the lovers' bane, For their love lost, their only gain And underneath thy cooling shade, The love-spent youth and love-sick maid |