In Imitation of Cowley : The Garden
Fain
would
my
Muse
the
flow'ry
Treasures
sing,
And
humble
glories
of
the
youthful
Spring;
Where
opening
Roses
breathing
sweets
diffuse,
And
soft
Carnations
show'r
their
balmy
dews;
Where
Lilies
smile
in
virgin
robes
of
white,
The
thin
Undress
of
superficial
Light,
And
vary'd
Tulips
show
so
dazzling
gay,
Blushing
in
bright
diversities
of
day.
Each
painted
flow'ret
in
the
lake
below
Surveys
its
beauties,
whence
its
beauties
grow;
And
pale
Narcissus
on
the
bank,
in
vain
Transformed,
gazes
on
himself
again.
Here
aged
trees
Cathedral
Walks
compose,
And
mount
the
Hill
in
venerable
rows:
There
the
green
Infants
in
their
beds
are
laid,
The
Garden's
Hope,
and
its
expected
shade.
Here
Orange-trees
with
blooms
and
pendantis
shine,
And
vernal
honours
to
their
autumn
join;
Exceed
their
promise
in
the
ripen'd
store,
Yet
in
the
rising
blossom
promise
more.
There
in
bright
drops
the
crystal
Fountains
play,
By
Laurels
shielded
from
the
piercing
day;
Where
Daphne,
now
a
tree
as
once
a
maid,
Still
from
Apollo
vindicates
her
shade,
Still
turns
her
Beauties
from
th'
invading
beam,
Nor
seeks
in
vain
for
succour
to
the
Stream.
The
stream
at
once
preserves
her
virgin
leaves,
At
once
a
shelter
from
her
boughs
receives,
Where
Summer's
beauty
midst
of
Winter
stays,
And
Winter's
Coolness
spite
of
Summer's
rays.
