Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/289

 246.

O shuts the marigold her leaves At the departure of the sun; So from the honeysuckle sheaves The bee goes when the day is done; So sits the turtle when she is but one, And so all woe, as I since she is gone.

To some few birds kind Nature hath Made all the summer as one day; Which once enjoy'd, cold winter's wrath As night they sleeping pass away. Those happy creatures are, that know not yet The pain to be deprived or to forget.

I oft have heard men say there be Some that with confidence profess The helpful Art of Memory: But could they teach Forgetfulness, I'd learn; and try what further art could do To make me love her and forget her too.



245.

AY! Be thou never graced with birds that sing, Nor Flora's pride! In thee all flowers and roses spring, Mine only died.

