Will you accept this bud my dear,
Fit emblem of the coming year:
The bud expands, the flower blooms,
And gives awhile its rich perfumes:
...
'Tis early eve-the sun's last trembling glance,
Still hovers o'er and gilds the western wild,
And slowly leaves the haunts of solitude.
...
What joyous notes are those, so soft, so sweet,
That unexpected, strike my charmed ear!
They are the Robin's song! This genial morn
...
With A Rose In January
Will you accept this bud my dear,
Fit emblem of the coming year:
The bud expands, the flower blooms,
And gives awhile its rich perfumes:
Its strength decays, its leaf descends,
Its sweets are gone-its beauty ends,
Such is the year.-The morning brings
The bud of pleasure in its wings:
Hope, health, and fortune, smile their day,
And charm each threat'ning cloud away:
But gathering ills increase their force,
And though concealed-make sure their course.
They come-they press-they stand confest,
And disappointment tells the rest.