How rich is my reward! My gentle Flower, But yet, not lost, Not lost, my beautiful; thou wilt but hide Thy quiet loveliness while Summer's sun To revel in their gay and festal 'tire: When Autumn dims them, and when winter chills, Thou wilt lay by thy cloak of russet brown, So, when thy fragrance breathes its faint perfume, c 2 TO A VIOLET, GATHERED ON CHRISTMAS DAY. Sweet violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched beare Within your paly faces, Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind That plays amidst the plain; If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain On old Hyem's chin and icy crown, SIR WALTER RALEIGH. SHAKSPEARE. FAIR child of the Spring, Loved gem of the year, Why thy fragrance fling Amid winter drear? Each kindred flower hath veiled her head, E'en the autumn daisy is closed and dead. Dost come because Summer's bright laughing sky Can no more with thy sapphire radiance vie? Nor, when breathing thy scent through the leafless vale, No roses their rival perfumes exhale? And com'st thou, loved flower, mine eyes to greet, Because thou art alone, the fair-the sweet? |