The spider Love, which transubstantiates all,
And can convert manna to gall ;
And that this place may thoroughly be thought
True paradise, I have the serpent brought.
'Twere wholesomer for me that winter did
Benight the glory of this place,
And that a grave frost did forbid
These trees to laugh and mock me to my face ;
But that I may not this disgrace
Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me
Some senseless piece of this place be ;
Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here,
Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.
Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come,
And take my tears, which are love's wine,
And try your mistress' tears at home,
This is a neat, clever metaphor; the fountain is inanimate, made of stone, so therefore unfeeling. Yet it produces water that resembles tears and weeping. There is again a contradiction; he wants to be as stone, and yet continue ‘weeping out my year’. Perhaps this is a recognition of reality, that grief must be endured until time eases it.
Twickenham Garden