The Solitary Shepherd’S Song

O SHADY vale, O fair enriched meads, O sacred woods, sweet fields, and rising mountains; O painted flowers, green herbs where Flora treads, Refreshed by wanton winds and watery fountains!

O all ye winged choristers of wood, That perched aloft, your former pains report; And straight again recount with pleasant mood Your present joys in sweet and seemly sort!

O all you creatures whosoever thrive On mother earth, in seas, by air, by fire; More blest are you than I here under sun! Love dies in me, whenas he doth revive In you; I perish under Beauty’s ire, Where after storms, winds, frosts, your life is won.