The poem
Ye have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill'd with flowers; And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours.
You have beheld how they With wicker arks did come, To kiss and bear away The richer cowslips home.
You've heard them sweetly sing, And seen them in a round; Each virgin, like a spring, With honeysuckles crown'd.
But now, we see none here, Whose silvery feet did tread And with dishevell'd hair Adorn'd this smoother mead.
Like unthrifts, having spent Your stock, and needy grown You're left here to lament Your poor estates alone.