Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow :: :: University of Virginia Library

Since king and shepherd own
Thee for the queen of flowers,
When thou art fully blown
In Summer-laughing hours;
Since none partake thy throne;
What need a Poet's powers
To make thy kingdom known,
Thou sovran of the bowers?

What need to paint the state
Of amber-haired Morn?
Or the ripe Day relate,
Which is in Ocean born?
These all confess are great;
And yet all tongues adorn—
Pure love cannot abate,
Nor duty be forborne.

Thou flower of heav'nly seed!
Emphatical delight!
Thou, in whose leaves we read
The soul of crimson light!
That married art, indeed,
And vow'd to Summer bright;
And didst of Spring proceed;
What tongue can paint thee right?

Ere thou art born on earth,
The shepherds sing thy praise;
The cities waken mirth,
In hope of flowery days:
Thou art the chiefest birth,
That swelling Nature pays,
To ransom Winter's dearth,
And Spring's unkind delays.

The pink and violet meet,
The jasmine dwells in thee,
The honeysuckle sweet,
The jacinth budding free;

In thee what odours greet
The longing sense, agree;
And reign in lovely heat—
As fountains in the sea.

Methinks, thou hast a tongue,
That answers me again,
With lovely Muses hung;
“O, waste not love in vain;
But let his praise be sung,
Who bade me blush, and reign
O'er flowers; by whom I sprung;
The God of land and main!

“My life, I know, is brief;
My crimson shall grow pale;
And I shall shed my leaf,
And all my odours fail:
But this can breed no grief;
I love, and shall prevail;
And God shall give relief,
And raise me up from bale.

“And what the Spring to me,
Prophetic, may appear,
Is Heaven, O man, to thee,
An ever blooming year:
Where thou shalt Angels see,
And their sweet harpings hear;
If thou God's servant be,
And keep his counsel dear.”

O Preacher of the mead,
Thy sermon is divine;
And doth from God proceed:
Who caused thee thus to shine,
O Rose, in crimson weed:
And may I make it mine;
And thus be learn'd indeed,
When sun and stars decline!