On a Willow in Front of My Window

R ECLIN'D on Pleasure's rosy pillow,
I saw the melancholy Willow;
Diffus'd its lank and pendent hair,
Wav'd as the banner of Despair.
But soon the heart-enlivening Muse
In pensive scenes delight renews;
Poetic Fancy took her scope
To Willows that enchanted Pope ;
When, careless of the busy world,
Her sail with him the Muse unfurl'd:
I seem to catch Belinda's hair,
Nor Criticks fear, nor Edmund spare;
My thoughts of Death repel with scorn,
And live again — to Fancy born.
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