Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount
Morten Lauridsen, Ben Jonson
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