| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXVII. Vain Longing
Sonnet: ‘Sweet Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train’ | | By William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649) |
| | | SWEET Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train, | |
| Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow’rs; | |
| The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, | |
| The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show’rs. | |
| Thou turn’st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hours | 5 |
| And happy days with thee come not again; | |
| The sad memorials only of my pain | |
| Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours. | |
| Thou art the same which still thou wast before, | |
| Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair; | 10 |
| But she, whose breath embalm’d thy wholesome air, | |
| Is gone,—nor gold nor gems her can restore. | |
| Neglected virtue, seasons go and come, | |
| While thine, forgot, lie closèd in a tomb. | | | | |
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