William Broome

William Broome Poems

Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose,
The Beauties of thy Leaves disclose!
The Winter's past, the Tempests fly,
...

NO more let youth its beauty boast,
S--n at thirty reigns a toast,
And, like the Sun as he declines,
...

William Broome Biography

William Broome (1689–1745) was an English poet and translator. He was born in Haslington, near Crewe, Cheshire and died in Bath. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge, entered the Church, and became rector of Sturston in Suffolk, and later Pulham in Norfolk and Eye in Suffolk. He translated the Iliad in prose along with others, and was employed by Alexander Pope, whom he excelled as a Greek scholar, in translating the Odyssey, of which he Englished the 2nd, 6th, 8th, 11th, 12th, 16th, 18th, and 23rd books, catching the style of his master so exactly as almost to defy identification, and thus annoying him so as to earn a niche in The Dunciad. He also translated the Odes of Anacreon. He published verses of his own of very moderate poetical merit.)

The Best Poem Of William Broome

The Rose-Bud

Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose,
The Beauties of thy Leaves disclose!
The Winter's past, the Tempests fly,
Soft Gales breathe gently thro' the Sky;
The Lark sweet warbling on the Wing
Salutes the gay Return of Spring:
The silver Dews, the vernal Show'rs,
Call forth a bloomy Waste of Flow'rs;
The joyous Fields, the shady Woods,
Are cloth'd with Green, or swell with Buds;
Then haste thy Beauties to disclose,
Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose!
Thou, beauteous Flow'r, a welcome Guest,
Shalt flourish on the Fair-One's Breast,
Shalt grace her Hand, or deck her Hair,
The Flow'r most sweet, the Nymph most fair;
Breathe soft, ye Winds! be calm, ye Skies!
Arise ye flow'ry Race, arise!
And haste thy Beauties to disclose,
Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose!
But thou, fair Nymph, thy self survey
In this sweet Offspring of a Day;
That Miracle of Face must fail,
Thy Charms are sweet, but Charms are frail:
Swift as the short-liv'd Flow'r they fly,
At Morn they bloom, at Evening die:
Tho' Sickness yet a while forbears,
Yet Time destroys, what Sickness spares;
Now Helen lives alone in Fame,
And Cleopatra's but a Name;
Time must indent that heav'nly Brow,
And thou must be, what Helen's now.
This Moral to the Fair disclose,
Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose

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