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Pastoral Poems (Breton); Selected Poetry (Wither); Pastoral Poetry (Browne)/Spring Morning—I

< Pastoral Poems (Breton); Selected Poetry (Wither); Pastoral Poetry (Browne)(Redirected from Spring Morning I)
For works with similar titles, see Spring Morning.

Spring Morning—I

Thomalin.

Where is every piping lad
That the fields are not yclad
With their milk-white sheep?
Tell me: is it holiday,
Or if in the month of May
Use they long to sleep?

Piers.

Thomalin, 'tis not too late,
For the turtle and her mate
Sitten yet in nest:
And the thrustle hath not been
Gath'ring worms yet on the green,
But attends her rest.
Not a bird hath taught her young,
Nor her morning's lesson sung
In the shady grove:
But the nightingale in dark
Singing woke the mounting lark:
She records her love.
Not the sun hath with his beams
Gilded yet our crystal streams;
Rising from the sea,
Mists do crown the mountains' tops,
And each pretty myrtle drops:
'Tis but newly day.

The Shepherd's Pipe.