On Seeing a Rose in October

Thrice happy flower, what heavenly aid Supports thy strength, while others fade? What quickening spirit makes thee blow, While all thy sisters droop below? Sure there's a spark of heavenly flame, That shoots its warmth throughout thy frame; Some inborn essence most refin'd, Some genial virtue good and kind, That makes thy blushing beauties blow, And thy mellifluous sweets to flow; That gives new life, and rears thy head, When all thy beauteous race lie dead.

Thou, charming rose! art now most rare, And would'st be quite beyond compare; But that my Delia, but that she, Is lovely, fair, and sweet like thee: Like thee, when other beauties pine, She glows with virtue, and shall shine; Deep in the heart the blessing lies, The spark divine that never dies: Which (when the frost of age invades, When on her cheek thy picture fades) Shall give new grace, new life, new air, And make her eminently fair.