The Wild Honey-Suckle

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,

Hid in this silent, dull retreat,

Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,

Unseen thy little branches greet;

…No roving foot shall crush thee here,

…No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white arrayed,

She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,

And planted here the gaurdian shade,

And sent soft waters murmuring by;

…Thus quietly thy summer goes,

…Thy days declinging to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,

I grieve to see your future doom;

They died—nor were those flowers more gay,

The flowers that did in Eden bloom;

…Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power

…Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evenign dews

At first thy little being came:

If nothing once, you nothing lose,

For when you die you are the same;

…The space between, is but an hour,

…The frail duration of a flower.