CALM was the day, and through the trembling air 
Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, 
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; 
When I whose sullen care, 
Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 
In prince's court, and expectation vain 
Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 
Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain, 
Walked forth to ease my pain 
Along the shore of silver streaming Thames, 
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, 
Was painted all with variable flowers, 
And all the meads adorned with dainty gems, 
Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 
And crown their paramours, 
Against the bridal day, which is not long: 
      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

There, in a meadow, by the river's side, 
A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, 
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied, 
As each had been a bride; 
And each one had a little wicker basket, 
Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, 
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket
And with fine fingers cropt full featously 
The tender stalks on high.  (1/7)

- 'PROTHALAMION' by EDMUND SPENSER.

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