Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
‘Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears’Ben Jonson (1572–1637)
From ‘Cynthia’s Revels’
S
Yet, slower yet; O faintly, gentle springs;
List to the heavy part the music bears;
Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers,
Our beauties are not ours;
O, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is now a wither’d daffodil.