THE WILD HONEY SUCKLE
Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,1.
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,3.
Unseen thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.
By Nature’s self in white arrayed,1.
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,3.
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose,
Smit with those charms, that must decay,1.
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died–nor were those flowers more gay,3.
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;
Unpitying frosts, and Autumn’s power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.
From morning suns and evening dews1.
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once, you nothing lose,3.
For when you die you are the same;
The space between, is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.