THE POETRY OF FLC WERS, 
135 
TO PRIMROSES 
FILLED WITH MORNING DEW'. 
\ 
BY HERRICK. 
IVhy dc ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears 
Speak grief in you, 
Who were but born 
Just as the modest morn 
Teem’d her refreshing dew ! 
Alas! ye have not known that shower 
That mars a flower; 
Nor felt the unkind 
Breath of a blasting wind ; 
Nor are ye worn with years; 
Or warp’d as we, 
Who think it strange to see 
Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue. 
Speak, whimpering 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 thkt 
