THAT zephyr every year 
   So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, 
It was for her: that wrapp'd in gowns of green 
   Meads were so early seen, 
That in the saddest months oft sung the merles, 
It was for her; for her trees dropp'd forth pearls. 
   That proud and stately courts 
Did envy those our shades and calm resorts, 
It was for her; and she is gone, O woe! 
   Woods cut again do grow, 
Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done; 
But we, once dead, no more do see the sun.