Ned Rorem - Echo's Song lyrics

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears: Yet slower, yet; O faintly, gentle springs: List to the heavy part the music bears Woe weeps out her division when she sings Droop herbs and flowers Fall grief in showers Our beauties are not ours; O, I could still Like melting snow upon some craggy hill Drop, drop, drop, drop Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil