Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left of love, are crown’d.

When once the lover’s rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorn:
Then willow-garlands ‘bout the head
Bedew’d with tears are worn.

When with neglect, the lovers’ bane,
Poor maids rewarded be
For their love...