Explore "Fresh Spring" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
FRESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king,
In whose coat-armour richly are displayed
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring
In goodly colours gloriously arrayed:
Go to my love, where she is careless laid,
Yet in her winter bower not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time will not be stayed,
Unless she do him by the forelock take;
Bid her therefore herself soon ready make, / To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew; / Where every one that misseth there her make / Shall be by him amerced with penance due.
Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, / For none can call again the passed time.