Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/304

 267. To the Willow-tree

Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest, And left of love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorn: Then willow-garlands 'bout the head Bedew'd with tears are worn.

When with neglect, the lovers' bane, Poor maids rewarded be For their love lost, their only gain Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade, When weary of the light, The love-spent youth and love-sick maid Come to weep out the night.

268. The Mad Maid's Song

Good-morrow to the day so fair, Good-morning, sir, to you; Good-morrow to mine own torn hair Bedabbled with the dew.

Good-morning to this primrose too, Good-morrow to each maid That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my love is laid.