C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To Meadows

YE have been fresh and green;

Ye have been filled with flowers;

And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours;

Ye have beheld where they

With wicker arks did come,

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home;

You’ve heard them sweetly sing,

And seen them in a round;

Each virgin, like the spring,

With honeysuckles crowned.

But now we see none here

Whose silvery feet did tread,

And with disheveled hair

Adorned this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent

Your stock, and needy grown,

You’re left here to lament

Your poor estates alone.