The Picture of T. C. In a Prospect of Flowers
SEE with what simplicityThis nymph begins her golden days!In the green grass she loves to lie,And there with her fair aspect tamesThe wilder flowers, and gives them names;But only with the roses plays,And them does tellWhat colours best become them, and what smell.
Who can foretell for what high causeThis darling of the gods was born?Yet this is she whose chaster lawsThe wanton Love shall one day fear,And, under her command severe,See his bow broke, and ensigns torn.Happy who canAppease this virtuous enemy of man!
O then let me in time compoundAnd parley with those conquering eyes,Ere they have tried their force to wound;Ere with their glancing wheels they driveIn triumph over hearts that strive,And them that yield but more despise:Let me be laid,Where I may see the glories from some shade.
Meantime, whilst every verdant thingItself does at thy beauty charm,Reform the errors of the Spring;Make that the tulips may have shareOf sweetness, seeing they are fair,And roses of their thorns disarm;But most procureThat violets may a longer age endure.
But O young beauty of the woods,Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers,Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;Lest Flora, angry at thy crimeTo kill her infants in their prime,Should quickly make the example yours;And, ere we see,Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee.