Hath taught a Fawn to hunt his Dear.'
But Sylvio soon had me beguiled:
This waxed tame, while he grew wild,
And quite regardless of my smart,
Left me his Fawn, but took his Heart.
Thenceforth I set myself to play
My solitary time away

With this, and very well content
Could so mine idle life have spent.
For it was full of sport, and light
Of foot and heart, and did invite
Me to its game: it seemed to bless
Itself in me. How could I less
Than love it? Oh, I cannot be
Unkind to a beast that loveth me.

Had it lived long, I do not know
Whether it too might have done so
AS SYLVIO did; his gifts might be
Perhaps as false, or more, than he.
But I am sure, for aught that I
Could in so short a time espy,
Thy love was far more better then
The love of false and cruel men.

With sweetest milk and sugar first
I it at my own fingers nursed;
And as it grew, so every day

It wax'd more white and sweet than they—
It had so sweet a breath! and oft

I blush'd to see its foot more soft

And white, shall I say,—than my hand? Nay, any lady's of the land!

It is a wondrous thing how fleet 'Twas on those little silver feet:

With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race:-
And when 't had left me far away
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay:
For it was nimbler much than hinds,
And trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own,
But so with roses overgrown
And lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness:

And all the spring-time of the year
It only loved to be there.

Among the beds of lilies I

Have sought it oft, where it should lie;

Yet could not, till itself would rise,
Find it, although before mine eyes:-
For in the flaxen lilies' shade

It like a bank of lilies laid.

Upon the roses it would feed,
Until its lips e'en seemed to bleed:
And then to me 'twould boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill,
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold:-
Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without-roses within.

Oh help! Oh help! I see it faint
And die as calmly as a saint.
See how it weeps! the tears do come

Sad, slowly dropping like a gum.

So weeps the wounded balsam; so
The holy frankincense doth flow;
The brotherless Heliades

Melt in such amber tears as these.
I in a golden vial will
Keep these two crystal tears, and fill
It till it do o'erflow with mine,
Then place it in DIANA'S shrine.

Now my sweet fawn is vanished to.
Whither the swans and turtles go;
In fair Elizium to endure,

With milk-like lambs and ermines pure.
Oh do not run too fast: for I
Will but bespeak thy grave, and die.
First my unhappy statue shall

Be cut in marble; and withal,
Let it be weeping too: but there
The engraver sure his art may spare;
For I so truly thee bemoan,

That I shall weep, though I be stone:
Until
my tears, still dropping, wear
My breast, themselves engraving there.
There at my feet shalt thou be laid,
Of purest alabaster made:

For I would have thine image be
White as I can, though not as thee.

Andrew Marvell

"TO GATHER FLOWERS SAPPHA WENT”

To gather Flowers Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her Lawnie Continent
The treasure of the Spring.

She smiling blusht, and blushing smil'd
And sweetly blushing thus,

She lookt as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.

Her Apron gave (as she did passe)
An Odor more divine,

More pleasing too, than ever was

The lap of Proserpine.

Robert Herrick

TO MEADOWS

YE have been fresh and green,

Ye have been fill'd with flowers; And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours.

You have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come,

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like a spring,
With honeysuckles crown'd.

But now, we see none here,
Whose silvery feet did tread,

And with dishevelled hair

Adorn'd the smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock and needy grown,
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.

Robert Herrick