51
Could we again, by fancy led,
That bower of swelling leaves confine,
And round that fine, luxuriant head,
The mossy tendrils now entwine,
That bower of swelling leaves confine,
And round that fine, luxuriant head,
The mossy tendrils now entwine,
Over what multitudes of bloom
Would a few timid leaflets close!
What mental joys resign their room,
To causeless mirth, and tame repose!
Would a few timid leaflets close!
What mental joys resign their room,
To causeless mirth, and tame repose!
The change to Reason's steady eye,
Would neither good nor wise appear;
And we may lay one precept by,
Our discontent is insincere.
Would neither good nor wise appear;
And we may lay one precept by,
Our discontent is insincere.
