Hello Folks, Taken from _The Penguin Book of Elizabethan Verse_. (Elizabeth I, that is!) _The Earth, Late Choked With Showers*_ The earth, late choked with showers, Is now arrayed in green; Her bosom springs with flowers, The air dissolves her teen.¹      The heavens laugh at her glory,      Yet bide I sad and sorry. The woods are decked with leaves And trees are clothèd gay, And Flora, crowned with sheaves, With oaken boughs doth play;      Where I am clad in black,      In token of my wrack. The birds upon the trees Do sing with pleasant voices, And chant in their degrees Their loves and lucky choices;      When I, whilst they are singing,      With sighs mine arms are wringing. The thrushes seek the shade, And I my fatal grave; Their flight to heaven is made, My walk on earth I have.      They free, I thrall; they jolly,      I sad and pensive wholly.                                     THOMAS LODGE * Translated from a French original by Phillipe Desportes ¹ trouble