Mary Wroth
How fast thou hastest (O Spring) with swiftest speed
To catch thy waters which before are run,
And of the greater rivers welcome won,
Ere these thy new-born streams these places feed,
Yet do you well lest staying here might breed
Dangerous floods your sweetest banks t' o'er-run,
And yet much better my distress to shun
Which makes my tears but your course to succeed,
But best you do when with so hasty flight,
You fly my ills which now my self outgo,
Whose broken heart can testify such woe,
Which so o'ercharged my life blood wasteth quite
Sweet spring then keep your way, be never spent
And my ill days, or griefs asunder rent.