To Primroses Filled with Morning Dew
Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tearsSpeak grief in you,Who were but bornjust as the modest mornTeem'd her refreshing dew?Alas, you have not known that showerThat mars a flower,Nor felt th' unkindBreath of a blasting wind,Nor are ye worn with years;Or warp'd as we,Who think it strange to see,Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make knownThe reason whyYe droop and weep;Is it for want of sleep,Or childish lullaby?Or that ye have not seen as yetThe violet?Or brought a kissFrom that Sweet-heart, to this?--No, no, this sorrow shownBy your tears shed,Would have this lecture read,That things of greatest, so of meanest worth,Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.
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