 | On some flowers in silk wrought by a handsom young Lady |  |
[_]
This poem was first published by Howard Erskine-Hill in his article ‘Alexander Pope at fifteen: a new manuscript’ in The Review of English Studies New Series Volume XVII, Oxford 1967 (pp. 268–77), where he argues its attribution to Pope. The text reproduced here is transcribed from the original manuscript (British Museum Add. Ms. 28253 AM, fol. 136v) by Dr. Erskine-Hill.
On some flowers in silk wrought by a handsom young Lady.
When Nature first her Flow'ry scene displayesYoung Birds salute her in their Early Layes,
So to your work our Infant Muses sing,
Whose steely Pencill tints a silken Spring;
Thus Love your image with a Pointed Dart
Works in our soul, the while he wounds our hart.
Alike your owne, and natures products shine,
Since both alike are made by hands divine;
Propitious Phoebus causes hers to rise,
And these, the aspects of your brighter eyes;
Your Scene, like that by gods and pencil wrought,
Starts from the needle, and reflects the Thought;
And bashfull flowrs, when we their lights admire,
Blush like your self, and into shades retire;
So glorious Colours only yield to those
Which nobler Lustre in your Cheeks disclose;
You rivall asure; and tis fitt that none
But Heavn's bright art should overcome your owne.
| On some flowers in silk wrought by a handsom young Lady | |