 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
THE GARLAND.
I would a garland twine, my love,
But nature's flowers decay,
And ah! that brow of thine, my love,
Deserves a fadeless bay.
But song shall crown thee, listen!
And let those eyes of fire
With approbation glisten,
Thy minstrel to inspire.
But nature's flowers decay,
And ah! that brow of thine, my love,
Deserves a fadeless bay.
But song shall crown thee, listen!
And let those eyes of fire
With approbation glisten,
Thy minstrel to inspire.
'T is not exterior charms, my love,
That faultless shape and face,
Those pearly polished arms, my love,
That air of witching grace—
But 't is those mental treasures,
Which few, alas! can claim,
By which the poet measures
Thy beauty, wit, and fame.
That faultless shape and face,
Those pearly polished arms, my love,
That air of witching grace—
But 't is those mental treasures,
Which few, alas! can claim,
By which the poet measures
Thy beauty, wit, and fame.
Time dims the brightest eye, my love,
That form will lose its grace,
That cheek its vermeil dye, my love,
And age will mark the face;
But virtue, love, and duty,
Retain immortal bloom,
Survive the wreck of beauty,
And decorate her tomb.
That form will lose its grace,
65
And age will mark the face;
But virtue, love, and duty,
Retain immortal bloom,
Survive the wreck of beauty,
And decorate her tomb.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |