I walk within this wood to vent my woes,
Remembering all my griefs and endless groans;
While growing joys deep sad conceits o'ergoes,
And loads my heart with love, my mind with moans.
The pleasant singing birds my plaints expones;
My tears from springs and wells seem to descend;
Yea both the highest hills and hardest stones
If ear they have, an ear to me extend.
Then at the oaks and alders that perpend
My plaints, I speir what way they will me feed,
If for to stay with them I condescend:
"On green," say they, for green does hope aye breed,
Which feeds the wretches, as by proof they prove,
And brings despairing souls some ease in love.