To a Young Lady, with Some Flowers

To thee, sweet smiling maid, I bring The beauteous progeny of spring: In every breathing bloom I find Some pleasing emblem of thy mind. The blushes of that opening rose Thy tender modesty disclose. These snow-white lilies of the vale Diffusing fragrance to the gale, No ostentatious tints assume, Vain of their exquisite perfume; Careless, and sweet, and mild, we see In them a lovely type of thee. In yonder gay enamell'd field, Serene that azure blossom smil'd: Not changing with the changeful sky, Its faithful tints inconstant fly; For, unimpair'd by winds and rain, I saw th' unalter'd hue remain. So were thy mild affections prov'd, Thy heart by fortune's frown unmov'd, Pleas'd to administer relief, In times of woe would solace grief. These flowers with genuine beauty glow; The tints from nature's pencil flow: What artist could improve their bloom? Or sweeter make their sweet perfume? Fruitless the vain attempt. Like these Thy native truth, thine artless ease, Fair unaffected mind, can never fail to please.