Spring Bereaved I
That zephyr every year So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, It was for her: that wrappd in gowns of green Meads were so early seen, That in the saddest months oft sung the merles, It was for her; for her trees droppd forth pearls. That proud and stately courts Did envy those our shades and calm resorts, It was for her; and she is gone, O woe! Woods cut again do grow, Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done; But we, once dead, no more do see the sun.
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"That zephyr every year..."
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