| |
| THOUGH you be absent here, I needs must say | |
| The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay, | |
| As ever they were wont to be; | |
| Nay the birds’ rural music too | |
| Is as melodious and free, | 5 |
| As if they sung to pleasure you: | |
| I saw a rose-bud ope this morn; I’ll swear | |
| The blushing morning open’d not more fair. | |
| |
| How could it be so fair, and you away? | |
| How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay? | 10 |
| Could they remember but last year, | |
| How you did them, they you delight, | |
| The sprouting leaves which saw you here, | |
| And called their fellows to the sight, | |
| Would, looking round for the same sight in vain, | 15 |
| Creep back into their silent barks again. | |
| |
| Where’er you walk’d trees were as reverend made, | |
| As when of old gods dwelt in every shade. | |
| Is’t possible they should not know, | |
| What loss of honour they sustain, | 20 |
| That thus they smile and flourish now, | |
| And still their former pride retain? | |
| Dull creatures! ’tis not without cause that she, | |
| Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree. | |
| |
| In ancient times sure they much wiser were, | 25 |
| When they rejoic’d the Thracian verse to hear; | |
| In vain did nature bid them stay, | |
| When Orpheus had his song begun, | |
| They call’d their wondering roots away, | |
| And bade them silent to him run. | 30 |
| How would those learned trees have followed you? | |
| You would have drawn them, and their poet too. | |
| |
| But who can blame them now? for, since you’re gone, | |
| They’re here the only fair, and shine alone. | |
| You did their natural rights invade; | 35 |
| Where ever you did walk or sit, | |
| The thickest boughs could make no shade, | |
| Although the Sun had granted it: | |
| The fairest flowers could please no more, near you, | |
| Then painted flowers, set next to them, could do. | 40 |
| |
| When e’er then you come hither, that shall be | |
| The time, which this to others is, to me. | |
| The little joys which here are now, | |
| The name of punishments do bear; | |
| When by their sight they let us know | 45 |
| How we depriv’d of greater are. | |
| ’Tis you the best of seasons with you bring; | |
| This is for beasts, and that for men the Spring. | |
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