Page:Landon in The London Literary Gazette 1820.pdf/7

 Within yon bower, Of honey suckle and the snowy wealth The mountain ash puts forth to welcome spring, Her form was found reclined upon a bank, Where nature's sweet unnurtur'd children bloom. One white arm lay beneath her drooping head, While her bright tresses twin‘d their sunny wreath Around the polish’d ivory; there was not A tinge of colour mantling o’er her lovely face; ’Twas like to marble, where the sculptor's skill Has traced each charm of beauty but the blush. Serenity so sweet sat on her brow; So soft a smile yet hover'd on her lips, At first they thought 'twas sleep—and sleep it was— The cold long rest of death. L.