poet John Fletcher

John Fletcher

Weep No More

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;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003
Poem Edited: Tuesday, May 22, 2012

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Read poems about / on: grief, fate, sorrow, rain, time, wind, dream, joy