Sweet violets, Love’s paradise, that spread
Your gracious odors, which you couched bear
Within your paly faces,
Upon the gentle wing of some calm breathing wind
That plays amidst the plain,
If by the favor of propitious stars you gain
Such grace as in my lady’s bosom place to find,
Be proud to touch those places;
And when her warmth your moisture forth Both wear,
Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed,
Your honors of the flowery meads, I pray,
You pretty daughters of the earth and sun,
With mild and seemly breathing straight display
My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone.
Vermilion roses, that with new day’s rise
Display your crimson folds, fresh-looking, fair,
Whose radiant bright disgraces
The rich adorned rays of roseate rising morn;
Ah! if her virgin’s hand
Do pluck your pure, ere Phoebus view the land
And veil your gracious pomp in lovely Nature’s scorn;
If chance my mistress traces
Fast by your flowers to take the summer’s air,
Then, woeful blushing, tempt her glorious eyes
To spread their tears, Adonis’ death reporting,
And tell Love’s torments, sorrowing for her friend,
Whose drops of blood within your leaves consorting,
Report fair Venus moans withouten end.
Then may remorse, in pitying of my smart,
Dry up my tears and dwell within her heart.
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Sweet Violets
