What, were ye born to be An hour or half’s delight, And so to bid good-night? ’Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite! But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne’er so brave: And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. TO DAFFODILS FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the Summer’s rain, Or as the pearls of morning’s dew, Ne’er to be found again. TO VIOLETS WELCOME, Maids of Honour! You do bring In the Spring, And wait upon her. She has Virgins many, Fresh and fair; Yet you are More sweet than any. Ye are the Maiden Posies, And so graced To be placed ’Fore damask roses. But, though thus respected, By and by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected. TO PRIMROSES WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas, you have not known that shower That mars a flower; Nor felt th’ unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years; Or warped as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, To speak by tears, before ye have a tongue. Speak, whimp’ring younglings, and make known The reason, why Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep? Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? No, no, this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read, That things of greatest, so of meanest, worth, Conceived with care are, and with tears brought forth. TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON SHUT not so soon; the dull-eyed night Hath not as yet begun To make a seizure on the light, Or to seal up the sun. No marigolds yet closed are, No shadows great appear; Nor doth the early shepherd’s star Shine like a spangle here. Stay but till my Julia close Her life-begetting eye, And let the whole world then dispose Itself to live or die. TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME