Clear or cloudy, sweet as April show'ring,
Smooth or frowning so is her face to me,
Pleas'd or smiling like mild May all flow'ring
When skies blue silk and meadows carpets be,
Her speeches notes of that night-bird that singeth,
Who though all sweet yet jarring notes outringeth.

Her grace like June, when earth and trees be trimm'd
In best attire of complete beauty's height,
Her love again like summer's days be dimm'd,
With little clouds of doubtful constant faith,
Her trust her doubt, like rain and heat in skies
Gently thund'ring, she lightning to my eyes.

Sweet Summer-spring that breatheth life and growing,
In weeds as into (healing) herbs and flow'rs,
And sees of service divers sorts in sowing,
Some haply seeming and some being yours,
Rain on your herbs and flow'rs that truly serve,
And let your weeds lack dew and duly starve.

See also:
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