That Zephyr Every Year So Soon Was Heard To Sigh In Forests Here, It Was For Her: That Wrapp'D In Gowns Of Green Meads Were So Early Seen, That In The Saddest Months Oft Sung The Merles, It Was For Her; For Her Trees Dropp'D Forth Pearls. That Proud And Stately Courts Did Envy Those Our Shades And Calm Resorts, It Was For Her; And She Is Gone, O Woe! Woods Cut Again Do Grow, Bud Doth The Rose And Daisy, Winter Done; But We, Once Dead, No More Do See The Sun.