Classic Poem

In the garden of Venus a red rose grew,
As sweet as a morning in May;
But the sun beams had drank all her exquisite dew,
And left her, alas! to decay.

A zephyr, who long in his covert had lain,
As the twylight advanc'd, stole out;
He danc'd with the gossamers over the plain,
And fann'd them in ether about.

He saw the rose drooping, as near he flew,
And skipp'd round her withering stem;
Then the soft air of evening over her blew,
And deck'd her with many a gem.

As lovely again did appear the red rose,
As when in her earliest bloom;
And the zephyr she gave, as he sank to repose,
All the sweets of her luscious perfume.

'Tis thus with a maiden, whose tremulous breast
Of love the first symptom betrays;—
Neglected, she droops—but if kindly carest,
Is happy the rest of her days.