 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
101
TO A YOUNG LADY,
WHO LENT ME AN OLD BOOK.
I
This learnèd volume doth not tellA story so divine,
Nor point a moral half so well
As that young face of thine.
II
Thou shouldst have sent a rose to me,With morning dew bestarred;
It would have better likened thee,—
Sweet rosebud of the bard!
102
III
But mornings fly, and dewdrops dry,And many a lovely rose
Is plucked, and thrown neglected by,
Before it fairly blows.
IV
Sweet maid, thy budding time is fair;So may thy blooming be;
And never blighting blast of care
Untimely wither thee.
V
Flower on, in gladness, free from stain,Until the autumn's past;
And, like a fading rose, retain
Thy sweetness to the last.
| Poems and Lancashire Songs | |