- Here she was wont to go, and here, and here,
- Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow!
- The world may find the spring by following her,
- For other print her airy steps ne'er left.
- Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
- Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk.
- But like the soft west wind she shot along;
- And where she went, the flowers took thickest root,
- As she had sowed 'em with her odorous foot.
From: The Sad Shepherd, 1641.
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