Poetry Archives

    My mind was once the true survey
    Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
    And in the greenness of the grass
    Did see its hopes as in a glass;
    When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

    But these, while I with sorrow pine,
    Grew more luxuriant still and fine,
    That not one blade of grass you spy’d
    But had a flower on either side;
    When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the grass, does to me thoughts and me.

    Unthankful meadows, could you so
    A fellowship so true forgo?
    And in your gaudy May-games meet
    While I lay trodden under feet?
    When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

    But what you in compassion ought,
    Shall now by my revenge be wrought;
    And flow’rs, and grass, and I and all,
    Will in one common ruin fall.
    For Juliana comes, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

    And thus, ye meadows, which have been
    Companions of my thoughts more green,
    Shall now the heraldry become
    With which I shall adorn my tomb;
    For Juliana comes, and she
What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.