Weep no more by John Fletcher

WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;

by John Fletcher

Other poems by 'John Fletcher'

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Hence, All You Vain Delights from the Nice Valour

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