SPRING. 
Now the lusty Spring is seen ; 
Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 
Daintily invite the view. 
Everywhere, on every green, 
Roses, blushing as they blow, 
And enticing men to pull; 
Lilies, whiter than the snow, 
Woodbines of sweet honey full; 
All Love’s emblems, and all cry— 
“Ladies, if not plucked, we die.” 
Beaumont and Fletcher. 
TO BLOSSOMS. 
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past 
