William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
Bright Soul of the Sad YearThomas Nashe (15671601)
F
So fair a summer look for never more:
All good things vanish less than in a day,
Peace, plenty, pleasure suddenly decay.
Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav’st to appear.
Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed?
O trees, consume your sap in sorrow’s source,
Streams, turn to tears your tributary course.
Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year,
The earth is hell when thou leav’st to appear.