To Primroses Filled with Morning Dew by Robert Herrick
Why doe ye weep, sweet babes? Can Tears Speak griefe in you, Who were but borne Just as the modest morne Teem’d her refreshing dew? Alas you have not known that shower, That marres a flower; Nor felt th’unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worne with yeares; Or warpt, as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, (like to orphans young) To speak by teares, before ye have a tongue.
Speak, whimp’ring younglings, and make known The reason, why Ye droop, and weep; Is it for want of sleep? Or childish lullabie? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kisse From that sweet-heart, to this? No, no, this sorrow shown By your teares shed, Wo’d have this lecture read, That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv’d with grief are, and with teares brought forth.