Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/188

104 Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn, And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale; And watch with patient eye Thy fair unfolding charms. O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate sun With bashful forehead through the cool moist air Throws his young maiden beams, And with chaste kisses wooes The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade Protects thy modest blooms From his severer blaze. Sweet is thy reign, but short:—The red dog-star Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe Thy greens, thy flowerets all, Remorseless shall destroy.