TO LADY BEAUMONT
LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove While I was shaping beds for winter flowers; While I was planting green unfading bowers, And shrubs–to hang upon the warm alcove, And sheltering wall; and still, as Fancy wove The dream, to time and nature’s blended powers I gave this paradise for winter hours, A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom 10 Or of high gladness you shall hither bring; And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines Be gracious as the music and the bloom And all the mighty ravishment of spring. 1807.