Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
XXII. Irrevocable
Song: ‘That zephyr every year’
By William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)
    —THAT zephyr every year
So soon was heard to sigh in forests here,
It was for her: that wrapt in gowns of green
    Meads were so early seen,
That in the saddest months oft sung the merles,        5
It was for her; for her trees dropp’d forth pearls.
    That proud and stately courts
Did envy those our shades and calm resorts,
It was for her; and she is gone, O woe!
    Woods cut again do grow,        10
Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done;
But we, once dead, no more do see the sun….
Blush no more, rose, nor, lily, pale remain,
Dead is that beauty which yours late did stain.
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