From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
==The 1609 Quarto Version==
From you haue I beene abent in the pring,
When proud pide Aprill (dret in all his trim)
Hath put a pirit of youth in euery thing:
That heauie Saturne laught and leapt with him.
Yet nor the laies of birds,nor the weet mell
Of different flowers in odor and in hew,
Could make me any ummers tory tell:
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the Lillies white,
Nor praie the deepe vermillion in the Roe,
They weare but weet,but figures of delight:
Drawne after you, you patterne of all thoe.
Yet eem'd it Winter till,and you away,
As with your haddow I with thee did play.
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