On Observing a Blossom on the First of February 1796 (unsourced)

Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month Hath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee With blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower! These are but flatteries of the faithless year. Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave, Even now the keen North-East is on its way. Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee To some sweet girl of too too rapid growth Nipp'd by consumption mid untimely charms? Or to Bristowa's bard, the wondrous boy! An amaranth, which earth scarce seem'd to own, Till disappointment came, and pelting wrong Beat it to earth? or with indignant grief Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's hope, Bright flower of hope killed in the opening bud? Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine And mock my boding! Dim similitudes Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour From anxious Self, Life's cruel taskmaster! And the warm wooings of this sunny day Tremble along my frame and harmonize The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.

Při pozorování květu v prvních dnech února 1796