TO BLOSSOMS. 85 
The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell, 
Grew faint and dim, then droop’d and fell. 
And the flower had flown away. 
I look’d where the leaves were laid, 
In withering paleness, by ; 
And as gloomy thoughts stole on me, said, 
There’s many a sweet and bloomingmaid. 
Who will soon as dimly die. 
—Percivai.. 
TO BLOSSOMS. 
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do ye fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past 
But you may stay here yet awhile. 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 
What! were ye born to be 
An hour or half’s delight, 
And so to bid good-night ? 
’Twas pity nature brought ye forth 
Merely to show your worth, 
And lose you quite. 
