To a Lady with a Present of Flowers

The fragrant painting of our flow'ry fields,The choicest stores that youthful Summer yields,Strephon to fair Elisa hath convey'd,The sweetest Garland to the sweetest maid!O cheer the Flow'rs, my Fair! and let them rest 5On the Elysium of thy snowy breast,And there regale the smell and charm the viewWith richer odours and a lovelier hue.Learn hence, nor fear a flatt'rer in the Flow'r,Thy form divine and beauty's matchless pow'r: 10Faint near thy cheeks the bright carnation glows,And thy ripe lips outblush the op'ning rose;The lily's snow betrays less pure a light,Lost in thy bosom's more unsully'd white;And wreaths of jasmine shed perfumes beneath 15Th' ambrosial incense of thy balmy breath.Ten thousand beauties grace the rival pair;How fair the Chaplet and the Nymph how fair!But ah! too soon these fleeting charms decay,The fading lustre of one hast'ning day; 20This night shall see the gaudy Wreath decline,The roses wither and the lilies pine.The Garland's fate to thine shall be apply'd,And what advanc'd thy form shall check thy pride.Be wise, my Fair! the present hour improve, 25Let joy be now, and now a waste of love;Each drooping bloom shall plead thy just excuse,And that which shew'd thy beauty shew its use. 28