78. To Groves
Ye silent shades, whose each tree hereSome relique of a saint doth wear;Who for some sweet-heart’s sake, did proveThe fire and martyrdom of Love:—Here is the legend of those saintsThat died for love, and their complaints;Their wounded hearts, and names we findEncarved upon the leaves and rind.Give way, give way to me, who comeScorch’d with the self-same martyrdom!And have deserved as much, Love knows,As to be canonized ‘mongst thoseWhose deeds and deaths here written areWithin your Greeny-kalendar.—By all those virgins’ fillets hungUpon your boughs, and requiems sungFor saints and souls departed hence,Here honour’d still with frankincense;By all those tears that have been shed,As a drink-offering to the dead;By all those true-love knots, that beWith mottoes carved on every tree;By sweet Saint Phillis! pity me;By dear Saint Iphis! and the restOf all those other saints now blest,Me, me forsaken,—here admitAmong your myrtles to be writ;That my poor name may have the gloryTo live remember’d in your story.