How each thing, save the Lover in Spring, reviveth to Pleasure

WHEN Windsor walls sustain’d my wearied arm;

My hand my chin, to ease my restless head;

The pleasant plot revested green with warm;

The blossom’d boughs, with lusty Ver y-spread;

The flower’d meads, the wedded birds so late

Mine eyes discover; and to my mind resort

The jolly woes, the hateless, short debate,

The rakehell life, that ’longs to love’s disport.

Wherewith, alas! the heavy charge of care

Heap’d in my breast breaks forth, against my will

In smoky sighs, that overcast the air.

My vapour’d eyes such dreary tears distil,

The tender spring which quicken where they fall;

And I half bend to throw me down withal.