I SAW fair Chloris walk alone,
When feather'd rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his Tower
To court her in a silver shower:
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
Like pretty birds into their nest,
But, overcome with whiteness there,
For grief it thaw'd into a tear:
Thence falling on her garments' hem,
To deck her, froze into a gem.
More verses by William Strode
- In Commendation Of Musick
- A Translation Of The Nightingale Out Of Strada
- A Riddle: On A Kiss
- Kisses
- On A Gentlewoman That Had Had The Small Poxe