contents | previous | next On whose soft leaves fond Zephyrs play, Oh! queen of flowers, thy buds disclose, And give thy fragrance to the day; Unveil thy transient charms: ah, no! A little by thy bloom delay'd, Since the same hour that bids thee blow, Shall see thee droop thy languid head. Find, happy flower, thy throne and tomb; While, jealous of a fate so blest, How shall I envy thee thy doom! 69 Should some rude hand approach thee there,Guard the sweet shrine thou wilt adorn; Ah! punish those who rashly dare, And for my rivals keep thy thorn. And bid thy wanton leaves divide; He'll shew thee how, my lovely rose, To deck her bosom, not to hide; And thou shalt tell the cruel maid How frail are youth and beauty's charms, And teach her ere her own shall fade, To give them to her lover's arms. |
