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Contents > Author > Ben Jonson > Echo's Lament for Narcissus 1572- 1637
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Ben Jonson
Echo's Lament for Narcissus
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Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet, slower yet; O faintly, gentle springs;
List to the heavy part the music bears;
Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers,
Our beauties are not ours;
O, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil.

(from "Cynthia's Revels" Act 1, Scene 2)






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