140
TO L.M.
A charm within whose concentration lies
The secret of thy strength! oh, Rose full blown,
That wearest still the bud's soft grace, unstrown
Are all thy petals; provident and wise,
Thou hidest from the day's too-curious eyes
The dews the morning gave thee, and dost fold
A leaf above thy heart, but with no cold
Reserve, for still its sweetness overflows.
I question now thy Future: on what breast
Wilt thou at length thy perfect bloom unclose?
I know not, yet I know thou wilt be blest!
The secret of thy strength! oh, Rose full blown,
That wearest still the bud's soft grace, unstrown
Are all thy petals; provident and wise,
Thou hidest from the day's too-curious eyes
The dews the morning gave thee, and dost fold
A leaf above thy heart, but with no cold
Reserve, for still its sweetness overflows.
I question now thy Future: on what breast
Wilt thou at length thy perfect bloom unclose?
I know not, yet I know thou wilt be blest!
