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 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
How sweet, when Spring has crown'd, by genial show'rs,
The woods with verdure, and the fields with flow'rs,
When fleeting Summer holds his burning reign,
Or fruitful Autumn nods with golden grain,
With thee, dear girl, each well-known path to tread,
Where blooming shrubs their richest odors shed,
With thee to mark the seasons' bright career,
The varied blessings of the rip'ning year.
The woods with verdure, and the fields with flow'rs,
When fleeting Summer holds his burning reign,
Or fruitful Autumn nods with golden grain,
With thee, dear girl, each well-known path to tread,
Where blooming shrubs their richest odors shed,
With thee to mark the seasons' bright career,
The varied blessings of the rip'ning year.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |