Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that’s gone;
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.

The speaker urges an end to mourning by insisting that grief cannot reverse time: “Sorrow calls no time that’s gone.” The metaphor of violets—once picked, not revived even by “the sweetest rain”—presses the point that some losses are final and cannot be undone by later tenderness, regret, or even nature’s renewal. The stanza is not merely stoic; it is a gentle argument for redirecting emotion away from futile lamentation toward acceptance. Its compact, songlike form reinforces the message: grief is repetitive and circular, while the poem’s cadence moves forward, modeling the emotional transition it recommends.