1
The fountaines smoake, And yet no flames they shewe,
Starres shine all night though vndesern'd by day,
And trees doe spring, yet are not seene to growe,
And shadows mooue, although they seeme to stay
In Winters woe, is buried Summers blisse
And Loue loues most, when loue most secret is.
2
The stillest streames descries the greatest deepe,
The clearest skie is subiect to a shower,
Conceit's most sweete, when as it seemes to sleepe,
And fairest dayes doe in the morning lower,
The silent Groues sweete Nimphs they cannot misse,
For Loue loues most, where loue most secret is.
3
The rarest jewels, hidden vertue yeeld,
The sweete of traffique, is a secret gaine,
The yeere once old doth shew a barren field,
And Plants seeme dead, and yet they spring againe,
Cupid is blind, the reason why, is this,
Loue loueth most, where loue most secret is.
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