Flow not so fast, ye fountains;
What needeth all this haste?
Swell not above your mountains
Nor spend your time in waste
Gentle springs, freshly your salt tears
Must still fall dropping from their spheres

Weep they apace whom Reason
Or ling'ring Time can ease
My sorrow can no Season
Nor aught besides, appease
Gentle springs, freshly your salt tears
Must still fall dropping from their spheres

Time can abate the terror
Of every common pain;
But common grief is error
True grief will still remain
Gentle springs, freshly your salt tears
Must still fall dropping from their spheres