Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

YE have been fresh and green,

Ye have been filled with flowers,

And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours.

You have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.

You’ve heard them sweetly sing,

And seen them in a round:

Each virgin like a spring,

With honeysuckles crowned.

But now we see none here

Whose silvery feet did tread

And with dishevelled hair

Adorn’d this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent

Your stock and needy grown,

You’re left here to lament

Your poor estates, alone.