After the honey drops of pearly showers
Urania walk'd to gather flowers:
Sweet Rose (I heard her say) why are these fears?
Are these drops on thy cheek thy tears?
By those thy beauty fresher is, thy smell
Arabian spices doth excel.
This rain (the Rose replied) feeds and betrays
My odours; adds and cuts off days:
Had I not spread my leaves to catch this dew,
My scent had not invited you.
Urania sigh'd, and softly said, 'tis so,
Showers blow the rose, and ripen woe;
For mine (alas) when washt in floods sweet clean,
Heaven put his hand forth, and did glean.