The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Fawn I I stood in a condition of despair Upon a river bank in grief and pain; My thoughts did ponder on my fawn so rare, Who once was glad and frolicked there in rain.

II O Fawn! sweet Fawn! ‘tis pain to think of thee, Where is thy gentle form, where is thy grace? Thine eyes like morning dew, they danced with glee, And I am left alone to mourn thy face.

III Now I must wander through the woods alone, Where once we played in merry, happy cheer, Thy place is lost, as lost I ever moan, And all the world around me feels more drear.

IV So let the whispers of the breeze go by, With every branch, it echoes back my sigh.

• Michael Drayton