William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

ALEXIS, here she stayed; among these pines,

Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair;

Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,

More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines;

She set her by these muskèd eglantines,—

The happy place the print seems yet to bear;—

Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines,

To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend an ear;

Me here she first perceived, and here a morn

Of bright carnations did o’erspread her face;

Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,

And I first got a pledge of promised grace;

But ah! what served it to be happy so,

Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?