• She makes the roses red....


    My lady's presence makes the roses red,
    Because to see her lips they blush for shame.
    The lily's leaves, for envy, pale became,
    And her white hands in them this envy bred.
    The marigold the leaves abroad spread,
    Because the sun's and her power is the same.
    The violet of purple colour came.
    Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed.
    In brief: all flowers from her their virtue take;
    From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed;
    The living heat which her eyebeams make
    Warm the ground and quicken the seed.
    The rain, where with she waters the flowers,
    Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers