by Philip Morin Freneau (1752 - 1832)

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow
Language: English 
 Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
  Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
  Unseen thy little branches greet:
    No roving foot shall crush thee here,
    No busy hand provoke a tear.
By Nature's self in white arrayed,
  She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
  And sent soft waters murmuring by;
    Thus quietly thy summer goes,
    Thy days declining 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;
    Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power
    Shall leave no vestige of this flower.
From morning suns and evening dews
  At first thy little being came;
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
  For when you die you are the same;
    The space between is but an hour,
    The frail duration of flower.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2008-09-23
Line count: 24
Word count: 151