Autumn It Was / William Browne

from The Shepheard's Pipe, the Fourth Eglogue

Under an aged Oke was WILLY laid,
WILLY, the lad who whilome made the rockes
To ring with joy, whilst on his pipe he plaid,
And from their maisters wood the neighb'ring flockes
But now o're-come with dolors deepe
That nye his heart-strings rent,
Ne car'd he for his silly sheepe,
Ne car'd for merriment.
But chang'd his wonted walkes
For uncouth paths unknowne,
Where none but trees might heare his plaints,
And eccho rue his mone.

Autumne it was, when droop'd the sweetest floures,
And Rivers (swolne with pride) orelook'd the bankes,
Poore grew the day of Summer's golden houres,
And void of sapp stood Ida's Cedar-rankes,
The pleasant meadows sadly lay
In chill and cooling sweats
By rising fountaines, or as they
Fear'd Winters wastfull threats.
Against the broad-spred Oke,
Each winde in fury beares;
Yet fell their leaves not halfe so fast
As did the Shepherdes teares.

~~
William Browne of Tavistock (?1590-1645?)
from The Shepheard's Pipe, and other eglogues, 1614

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Read the complete poem here

William Browne of Tavistock biography