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From you | have I | been ab|sent in | the spring,
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When proud | pied^Ap|ril (dressed | in all | his
trim)
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Hath put | a spirit | of youth | in eve|ry thing:
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That hea|vy Sat|urn laughed | and leapt | with
him.
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Yet nor | the lays | of birds,| nor the / sweet
smell
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Of dif|ferent flowers | in o|dor and | in hue,
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Could make | me an|y sum|mer's sto|ry tell,
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Or from their | proud lap pluck | them where |
they grew:
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Nor did | I wond|er at | the lil|y's white,
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Nor praise | the deep | vermil|lion in | the rose;
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They were | but sweet,| but fig|ures of |
delight,
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Drawn^aft|er you,| you pat|tern of / all those.
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Yet seemed | it wint|er still,| and you | away,
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As with | your shad|ow I | with these | did play.