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Ben Jonson
Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount
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- 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.
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