Fair daffadills, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early rising sun Has not attained his noon. - Robert Herrick

Her pretty feet, like snails, did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they playèd at bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.

Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come and buy!
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, the very eyes of me, And hast command of every part to live and die for thee