I do love thee as my lambs

As the birds do love the spring, Or the bees their careful king.

I did not know that thou wert dead before; I did not feel the grief I did sustain; The greater stroke astonisheth the more; Astonishment takes from us sense of pain; I stood amazed when others' tears begun, And now begin to weep when they …

Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.

O fairest of the feather’d train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn, Attend with pity to my strain, And grant my love a kind return.