Sonnet XXXVII

The poet's fancy takes from Flora's realmHer buds and leaves to dress fictitious powers,With the green olive shades Minerva's helm,And give to Beauty's Queen the Queen of flowers.But what gay blossoms of luxuriant Spring,With rose, mimosa, amaranth entwin'd,Shall fabled Sylphs and fairy people bring,As a just emblem of the lovely mind?In vain the mimic pencil tries to blendThe glowing dyes that dress the flowery race,Scented and colour'd by a hand divine!Ah! not less vainly would the Muse pretendOn her weak lyre, to sing the native graceAnd native goodness of a soul like thine!