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; O, I could still, Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, Drop, drop, drop, drop, Since nature's pride is now, a withered daffodil.
About This Quote
About Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson was a 16th-century English playwright, poet, and actor. Benjamin Jonson was an English poet, playwright, and dramatist. Jonson's artistry exerted a lasting influence on English poetry and stage comedy. Read more on Wikipedia →