To My Cousin Frances, Countess of Londonberry

Be never told, perennial Flower,
That blasting winds are aim'd at thee,
Time has its favourites in the bower,
And they are from the tempest free.

Bright as in May, when Zephyrs blew,
In thee are Flora's jewels crown'd, —
Their bloom retains the vernal hue,
Their scents perfume the vale around.
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