[The Flowers Of The Spring.]

The Crocus, new expanded, mourns Her Fate, and many a tear is shed; Lest, when Maria home returns, Her transient Sweets should all be [sped].

The Vi’let yet remains unclos’d, Nor gives her fragrance to the Gale; But soon, to every Eye expos’d, She must her balmy breath exhale.

Then come, ere yet the wandering Bee, Has all her hoarded wealth possess’d; While yet she holds her Sweets for thee Enfolded in her Azure Vest!

For, tho’ we cannot yet describe The Bloom that warmer Scenes unfold, We now can boast a lovely Tribe That bare their bosoms to the Cold.

These Children of the early Year Must soon their rip’ning Charm[s] disclose; Then, while they live, do thou appear; In mercy, wait not for the rose!