Echo’s Lament Fob Narcissus
SLOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;Yet, slower yet; O faintly, gentle springs;List to the heavy part the music bears;Woe weeps out her division when she sings.Droop herbs and flowers;Fall grief in showers,Our beauties are not ours;O, I could still,Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,Drop, drop, drop, drop,Since nature’s pride is now a withered daffodil.