William Drummond, of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

AS the young fawn, when winter’s gone away

(Unto a sweeter season granting place),

More wanton grown by smiles of heaven’s fair face,

Leaveth the silent woods at break of day,

And now on hills and now by brooks doth prey

On tender flowers, secure and solitar,

Far from all cabins, and where shepherds are;

Where his desire him guides, his foot doth stray;

He feareth not the dart, nor other arms,

Till he be shot into the noblest part

By cunning archer who in dark bush lies:

So innocent, not fearing coming harms,

Wandering was I that day when your fair eyes,

World-killing shafts, gave death-wounds to my heart.