Matthew Prior (1664–1721)

SEE, whilst thou weep’st, fair Chloe, see

The world in sympathy with thee.

The cheerful birds no longer sing,

Each drops his head, and hangs his wing.

The clouds have bent their bosom lower,

And shed their sorrows in a shower.

The brooks beyond their limits flow;

And louder murmurs speak their woe.

The nymphs and swains adopt thy cares:

They heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears.

Fantastic nymph! that grief should move

Thy heart, obdurate against love.

Strange tears! whose power can soften all,

But that dear breast on which they fall.