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Robert Herrick - To the Willow Tree
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Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest
And left of love, are crown`d.

When once the lover`s rose is dead
Or laid aside forlorn,
Then willow-garlands, `bout the head,
Bedew`d with tears, are worn.

When with neglect, the lover`s bane,
Poor maids rewarded be,
For their love lost their only gain
Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade,
When weary of the light,
The love-spent youth, and love-sick maid,
Come to weep out the night.
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