202. To Meadows
Ye have been fresh and green,Ye have been fill’d with flowers;And ye the walks have beenWhere maids have spent their hours.
You have beheld how theyWith wicker arks did come,To kiss and bear awayThe 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 treadAnd with dishevell’d hairAdorn’d this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spentYour stock, and needy grownYou’re left here to lamentYour poor estates alone.