Poems (Pizey)/To Mary
For works with similar titles, see To Mary.
TO MARY.
Ah where are the blossoms of hope,
That liv'd in my bosom awhile,
They are wither'd ere yet they cou'd ope—
They are gone like the treacherous smile.
That liv'd in my bosom awhile,
They are wither'd ere yet they cou'd ope—
They are gone like the treacherous smile.
Ah surely they never had thriv'd,
If they had not been planted by you;
They can never again be reviv'd;
You have poison'd the spot where they grew.
If they had not been planted by you;
They can never again be reviv'd;
You have poison'd the spot where they grew.
Yet I charge you, beware of the thorn,
For it lurks with the roses entwin'd,
And perhaps you may one day regret
That you wounded a sorrowing mind.
For it lurks with the roses entwin'd,
And perhaps you may one day regret
That you wounded a sorrowing mind.