| Cleare or cloudie sweet as April showring,
|
| Smooth or frowning so is hir face to mee,
|
| Pleasd or smiling like milde May all flowring,
|
| When skies blew silke and medowes carpets bee,
|
| Hir speeches notes of that night bird that singeth,
|
| Who thought all sweet yet jarring notes outringeth.
|
| Hir grace like June, when earth and trees bee trimde,
|
| In best attire of compleat beauties height,
|
| Hir love againe like sommers daies bee dimde,
|
| With little cloudes of doubtfull constant faith,
|
| Hir trust hir doubt, like raine and heat in Skies,
|
| Gently thundring, she lightning to mine eies.
|
| Sweet sommer spring that breatheth life and growing,
|
| In weedes as into herbs and flowers,
|
| And sees of service divers sorts in sowing,
|
| Some haply seeming and some being yours,
|
| Raine on your herbs and flowers that truly serve,
|
| And let your weeds lack dew and duly starve. |