Classic Poem

Now each creature joys the other,
Passing happy days and hours;
One bird reports unto another
In the fall of silver showers;
Whilst the earth, our common mother,
Hath her bosom decked with flowers.

Whilst the greatest torch of heaven
With bright rays warms Flora's lap,
Making nights and days both even,
Cheering plants with fresher sap;
My field, of flowers quite bereaven,
Wants refresh of better hap.

Echo, daughter of the Air,
Babbling guest of rocks and hills,
Knows the name of my fierce Fair,
And sounds the accents of my ills.
Each thing pities my despair,
Whilst that she her lover kills.

Whilst that she, O cruel maid,
Doth me and my love despise,
My life's flourish is decayed
That depended on her eyes:
But her will must be obeyed,
And well he ends for love who dies.