The fountain

The unthrift sun shot vital gold,

A thousand, thousand pieces;

And heav'n its azure did unfold

Chequer'd with snowy fleeces;

The air was all in spice,

And ev'ry bush

A garland wore:

Thus fed my eyes,

But all the earth lay hush,

Only a little fountain lent

Some use for ears,

And on the dumb shades language spent,

The music of her tears.