The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
|
|
|
TO THE BLUE BELL. |
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| II. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| III. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| IV. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| V. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
188
TO THE BLUE BELL.
Blue Bell! how gayly art thou drest,
How neat and trim art thou, sweet flow'r;
How silky is thy azure vest,
How fresh, to flaunt at morning's hour!
Couldst thou but think, I well might say
Thou art as proud in rich array
As lady blithesome, young and vain,
Prank'd up with folly and disdain,
Vaunting her pow'r,
Sweet flow'r!
How neat and trim art thou, sweet flow'r;
How silky is thy azure vest,
How fresh, to flaunt at morning's hour!
Couldst thou but think, I well might say
Thou art as proud in rich array
As lady blithesome, young and vain,
Prank'd up with folly and disdain,
Vaunting her pow'r,
Sweet flow'r!
Blue Bell! O! couldst thou but behold
Beside thee where a rival reigns,
All deck'd in robe of glossy gold,
With speckled crown of ruby stains!
Couldst thou but see this cowslip gay,
Thou wouldst with envy faint, and say,
Hence from my sight, plebeian vain,
Nor hope, on this my green domain,
For equal pow'r,
Bold flow'r!
Beside thee where a rival reigns,
All deck'd in robe of glossy gold,
With speckled crown of ruby stains!
189
Thou wouldst with envy faint, and say,
Hence from my sight, plebeian vain,
Nor hope, on this my green domain,
For equal pow'r,
Bold flow'r!
Poor rivals! could ye but look round,
On yonder hillock you would see
The Nettle, with its stings to wound,
The Hemlock, fraught with destiny.
On them the sun its morning beam
Pours in as rich, as proud a stream
As on the fairest rose that rears
Its blushing brow 'midst nature's tears,
Chilling its pow'r,
Faint flow'r.
On yonder hillock you would see
The Nettle, with its stings to wound,
The Hemlock, fraught with destiny.
On them the sun its morning beam
Pours in as rich, as proud a stream
As on the fairest rose that rears
Its blushing brow 'midst nature's tears,
Chilling its pow'r,
Faint flow'r.
Then why dispute this wide domain,
Since nature knows no partial care,
The nipping blast, the pelting rain,
Both will with equal ruin share.
Then what is vain distinction, say,
But the short blaze of Summer's day?
And what is pomp or beauty's boast?
An empty shadow, seen and lost!
Such is thy pow'r—
Vain flow'r!
Since nature knows no partial care,
The nipping blast, the pelting rain,
Both will with equal ruin share.
Then what is vain distinction, say,
But the short blaze of Summer's day?
And what is pomp or beauty's boast?
An empty shadow, seen and lost!
Such is thy pow'r—
Vain flow'r!
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |