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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538426" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Spring Bereaved 2</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538426" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">SWEET Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train, <br>Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs: <br>The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, <br>The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show'rs. <br>Thou turn'st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hours <br>And happy days with thee come not again; <br>The sad memorials only of my pain <br>Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours. <br>Thou art the same which still thou wast before, <br>Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair; <br>But she, whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air, <br>Is gone--nor gold nor gems her can restore. <br>   Neglected virtue, seasons go and come, <br>   While thine forgot lie closed in a tomb.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Henry+Drummond">William Henry Drummond</a></strong></div>

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