The Wild Honeysuckle

By Phillip Freneau

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,

hid in this silent, dull retreat,

Untouch’d thy honey’d blossoms blow,

Unseen thy little branches greet:

no roving foot shall find thee here,

no busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature’s self in white array’d

She bade the shun the vulgar eye,

And planted here the guardian shade,

And sent soft waters murmuring by;

thus quietly thy summer goes

thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,

I grieve to see your future doom;

They died–nor were those flowers less gay,

The flowers that did in Eden bloom;

unpitying frosts, and autumn’s power,

shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews,

At first thy little being came:

If nothing once, you nothing lose,

For when you die you are the same;

the space between is but an hour,

the frail duration of a flower.


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