William Browne (c. 1590–c. 1645)

DOWN in a valley, by a forest’s side,

Near where the crystal Thames rolls on her waves,

I saw a mushroom stand in haughty pride,

As if the lilies grew to be his slaves;

The gentle daisy, with her silver crown,

Worn in the breast of many a shepherd’s lass,

The humble violet, that lowly down

Salutes the gay nymphs as they trimly pass:

Those, with many a more, methought, complained

That Nature should those needless things produce,

Which not alone the sun from others gained,

But turn it wholly to their proper use:

I could not choose but grieve, that Nature made

So glorious flowers to live in such a shade.