THAT zephyr every year     So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, It was for her: that wrapp'd in gowns of green     Meads were so early seen, That in the saddest months oft sung the merles, 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, Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done; But we, once dead, no more do see the sun.