Roger Quilter - By a Fountainside

To Rate
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears:
Yet slower, yet; O faintly, gentle springs:
List to the heavy part the music bears
Woe weeps out her division when she sings
Droop herbs and flowers
Fall grief in showers
Our beauties are not ours;
Or I could still
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill
Drop, drop, drop, drop
Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil

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