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;
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No roving foot shall crush thee here,
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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;
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Thus quietly thy summer goes,
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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;
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Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power
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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;
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The space between, is but an hour,
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The frail duration of a flower.

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