So Shuts the Marigold Her Leaves
SO shuts the marigold her leaves
At the departure of the sun;
So from the honeysuckle sheaves
The bee goes when the day is done;
So sits the turtle when she is but one,
And so all woe, as I since she is gone.
To some few birds kind Nature hath
Made all the summer as one day;
Which once enjoyed, cold winter's wrath
As night they sleeping pass away.
Those happy creatures are that know not yet
The pain to be deprived or to forget.
I oft have heard men say there be
Some that with confidence profess
The helpful Art of Memory;
But could they teach forgetfulness
I'd learn, and try what further art could do
To make me love her and forget her too.