The Poetry of George Wither :: :: University of Virginia Library

When bright Phœbus at his rest
Was reposed in the west,
And the cheerful daylight gone,
Drew unwelcome darkness on,
Night her blackness wrapp'd about me,
And within 'twas as without me.

Therefore on my tumbled bed
Down I laid my troubled head,
Where mine eyes, inured to care,
Seldom used to slumb'ring were.
Yet, o'ertired of late with weeping,
Then by chance they fell a-sleeping.

But such visions me diseased,
As in vain that sleep I seized:
For I sleeping fancies had,
Which yet waking make me sad.
Some can sleep away their sorrow,
But mine doubles every morrow.

Walking to a pleasant grove,
Where I used to think of love,
I methought a place did view
Wherein Flora's riches grew.
Primrose, hyacinth, and lilies,
Cowslips, violets, daffodillies.

190

There a fountain close beside
I a matchless beauty spied.
So she lay as if she slept,
But much grief her waking kept.
And she had no softer pillow
Than the hard root of a willow.

Down her cheeks the tears did flow,
Which a grieved heart did show,
Her fair eyes the earth beholding,
And her arms themselves enfolding;
She her passion to betoken,
Sigh'd as if her heart were broken.

So much grief methought she shew'd,
That my sorrow it renew'd;
But when nearer her I went
It increased my discontent;
For a gentle nymph she proved
Who me long unknown had loved.

Straight on me she fix'd her look,
Which a deep impression took;
And, “Of all that live,” quoth she,
“Thou art welcomest to me.”
Then, misdoubting to be blamed,
Thus she spake, as half ashamed.

191

“Thee unknown I long affected,
And as long in vain expected;
For I had a hopeful thought
Thou wouldst crave what others sought;
And I for thy sake have stay'd
Many wanton springs a maid.

“Still, when any wooed me,
They renew'd the thought of thee;
And in hope thou would'st have tried
Their affections, I denied.
But a lover forc'd upon me
By my friends hath now undone me.

“What I waking dared not show,
In a dream thou now dost know:
But to better my estate
Now, alas, it is too late.
And I, both awake and sleeping,
Now consume my youth in weeping.”

Somewhat then I would have said,
But replyings were denied.
For, methought, when speak I would,
Not a word bring forth I could.
And as I a kiss was taking,
That I lost too, by awaking.