Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.
Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.