I.
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inters knowEasily to shed the snow,And the untaught Spring is wiseIn cowslips and anemonies.Nature, hating art and pains,Baulks and baffles plotting brains;Casualty and SurpriseAre the apples of her eyes;But she dearly loves the poor,And, by marvel of her own,Strikes the loud pretender down. For Nature listens in the rose,And hearkens in the berry's bell,To help her friends, to plague her foes,And like wise God she judges well.Yet doth much her love excelTo the souls that never fell,To swains that live in happiness,And do well because they please,Who walk in ways that are unfamed,And feats achieve before they're named.
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