Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/59

 

! you thoughtless cruel boy, 'Tis all your pleasure to destroy; Fairer was my blushing rose, Than any fragrant flower that blows. Already, lo! it droops and dies, And all its lovely crimson flies. 'Twas I who breath'd the sweet perfume, I shed the rich luxuriant bloom; And when the bud in embryo lay, I chased the nipping blight away. ’Twas I the silken texture spun: Now my work is all undone; And now I mourn my fairest flower, The glory of my summer bower.

 

life's young morn, with fairy wiles, Hope cheats the soul, and Fancy smiles; They lull with flattering dreams of joy, Ah! why must truth the dreams destroy? 