Weep No More

John Fletcher

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that ’s gone:
Violets pluck’d, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate’s hid ends eyes cannot see.
Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.

Next 10 Poems

• Philip Freneau : Emancipation From British Dependence
• Philip Freneau : Ode
• Philip Freneau : On A Honey Bee
• Philip Freneau : On Retirement
• Philip Freneau : On The Death Of Dr. Benjamin Franklin
• Philip Freneau : On The Universality And Other Attributes Of The God Of Nature
• Philip Freneau : The Indian Burying Ground
• Philip Freneau : The Republican Genius Of Europe
• Philip Freneau : The Vernal Age
• Philip Freneau : The Wild Honey-suckle

Previous 10 Poems

• John Fletcher : Tis Late And Cold
• John Fletcher : Take, Oh Take Those Lips Away
• John Fletcher : Sleep
• John Fletcher : Sing His Praises That Doth Keep
• John Fletcher : Now The Lusty Spring Is Seen
• John Fletcher : Lay A Garland On My Hearse
• John Fletcher : Hold Back Thy Hours
• John Fletcher : Hence, All You Vain Delights
• John Fletcher : Hear, Ye Ladies That Despise
• John Fletcher : God Lyaeus, Ever Young