The Solitary Shepherd’s Song
O SHADY vale, O fair enriched meads,O sacred woods, sweet fields, and rising mountains;O painted flowers, green herbs where Flora treads,Refreshed by wanton winds and watery fountains!
O all ye winged choristers of wood,That perched aloft, your former pains report;And straight again recount with pleasant moodYour present joys in sweet and seemly sort!
O all you creatures whosoever thriveOn mother earth, in seas, by air, by fire;More blest are you than I here under sun!Love dies in me, whenas he doth reviveIn you; I perish under Beauty’s ire,Where after storms, winds, frosts, your life is won.