A collection of original poems and translations By John Whaley |
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On a young Lady working green Silk on a white Sattin Ground. |
 | A collection of original poems and translations |  |
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On a young Lady working green Silk on a white Sattin Ground.
In Winter's icy Chains lies Nature bound,
And one cold Whiteness covers all the Ground,
'Till the gay Spring, on Zephyrs born, is seen
And the whole Field is deck'd in sprightly Green;
But where some Snow-drops glitt'ring still remain
Height'ning the Lustre of the verdant Plain.
And one cold Whiteness covers all the Ground,
'Till the gay Spring, on Zephyrs born, is seen
And the whole Field is deck'd in sprightly Green;
But where some Snow-drops glitt'ring still remain
Height'ning the Lustre of the verdant Plain.
And lo! how Nature is by Art exprest,
That Silk, er'st white and smooth as Lucy's Breast,
Now stretch'd beneath her animating Hand,
Breaks into Flow'rs, and sprouts at her Command,
And, delicately verdant, charms the Sight,
But where her Fingers touch'd it, shines more white.
That Silk, er'st white and smooth as Lucy's Breast,
Now stretch'd beneath her animating Hand,
Breaks into Flow'rs, and sprouts at her Command,
And, delicately verdant, charms the Sight,
But where her Fingers touch'd it, shines more white.
| A collection of original poems and translations | |