I
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet-basil and mignonette?
Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.
Alas, and they are wet!
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
For never rain or dew
Such fragrance drew
From plant or flower—the very doubt endears
My sadness ever new.
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.
II
Send the stars light, but send not love to me,
In whom love ever made
Health like a heap of embers soon to fade—