SWEET rois of vertew and of gentilness,
Delytsum lily of everie lustynes,
Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear,
And everie vertew that is wenit dear,
Except onlie that ye are mercyless
Into your garth this day I did persew;
There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;
Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne,
And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene;
Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.
I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne,
Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene;
Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paine
That I would make to plant his root againe,–
So confortand his levis unto me bene.
(William Dunbar)
More Poetry from William Dunbar:
- The Dance Of The Seven Deadly Sins (William Dunbar Poems)
- In Honour of the City of London (William Dunbar Poem)
- Lament for the Makers (William Dunbar Poem)
- On the Nativity of Christ (William Dunbar Poem)
- To the City of London (William Dunbar Poem)