Sonnet LXV

IN happier hours, ere yet so keenly blewAdversity's cold blight, and bitter storms,Luxuriant Summer's evanescent forms,And Spring's soft blooms with pencil light I drew:But as the lovely family of flowersShrink from the bleakness of the Northern blast,So fail from present care and sorrow pastThe slight botanic pencil's mimic powers—Nor will kind Fancy even by Memory's aid,Her visionary garlands now entwine;Yet while the wreaths of Hope and Pleasure fade,Still is one flower of deathless blossom mine,That dares the lapse of Time, and Tempest rude,The unfading Amaranth of Gratitude.