Ask me why I send you here
The firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose all bepearled with dew:
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are washed with tears.
Ask me why this flower doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break:
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.
More verses by Thomas Carew
- A Cruel Mistress.
- A Divine Mistress
- Ingrateful Beauty Threatened
- Song. Mediocrity In Love Rejected.
- Mediocrity In Love Rejected