Page:Poems (Barbauld).djvu/107



Hope waits upon the flowery prime.

WEET daughter of a rough and tormy ire, Hoar Winter's blooming child; delightful Spring! Whoe unhorn locks with leaves And welling buds are crown'd;

From the green ilands of eternal youth, (Crown'd with freh blooms, and ever pringing hade,) Turn, hither turn thy tep, O thou, whoe powerful voice