On Observing a Blossom

Sweet Flower! that peeping from thy russet stemUnfoldest timidly, (for in strange sortThis dark, freeze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering MonthHath borrow'd Zephyr's voice, and gaz'd upon theeWith blue voluptuous eye) alas, poor Flower!These are but flatteries of the faithless year.Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,Ev'n now the keen North-East is on its way.Flower that must perish! shall I liken theeTo some sweet girl of too too rapid growthNipp'd by Consumption mid untimely charms?Or to Bristowa's Bard, the wonderous boy!An Amaranth, which Earth scarce seem'd to own,Blooming mid poverty's drear wintry waste,Till Disappointment came, and pelting wrong

Beat it to Earth? or with indignant griefShall I compare thee to poor Poland's Hope,Bright flower of Hope kill'd in the opening bud?Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thineAnd mock my boding! Dim similitudesWeaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hourFrom anxious Self, Life's cruel Task-Master!And the warm wooings of this sunny dayTremble along my frame and harmonizeTh' attemper'd organ, that even saddest thoughtsMix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunesPlay'd deftly on a soft-toned instrument.