To Groves

Ye silent shades, whose each tree here Some relique of a saint doth wear; Who for some sweet-heart's sake, did prove The fire and martyrdom of Love: Here is the legend of those saints That died for love, and their complaints; Their wounded hearts, and names we find Encarved upon the leaves and rind. Give way, give way to me, who come Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom! And have deserved as much, Love knows, As to be canonized 'mongst those Whose deeds and deaths here written are Within your Greeny-kalendar. By all those virgins' fillets hung Upon! your boughs, and requiems sung For saints and souls departed hence, Here honour'd still with frankincense; By all those tears that have been shed, As a drink-offering to the dead; By all those true-love knots, that be With mottoes carved on every tree; By sweet Saint Phillis! pity me; By dear Saint Iphis! and the rest Of all those other saints now blest, Me, me forsaken, here admit Among your myrtles to be writ; That my poor name may have the glory To live remember'd in your story.