To A Rosebud In Humble Life
By John Clare
Sweet, uncultivated blossom,
Reared in Spring's refreshing dews,
Dear to every gazer's bosom,
Fair to every eye that views;--
Opening bud, whose youth can charm us,
Thine be many a happy hour:
Spreading rose, whose beauties warm us--
Flourish long, my lovely flower.
Though pride look disdainful on thee,
Scorning scenes so mean as thine,
Although fortune frown upon thee,
Lovely blossom, ne'er repine:
Health unbought is ever with thee,
Which their wealth can never gain;
Innocence doth garments give thee,
Such as fashion apes in vain.
When fit time and reason grant thee
Leave to quit the parent tree,
May some happy hand transplant thee
To a station suiting thee.
On some lover's faithful bosom
May'st thou then thy sweets resign;
And may each unfolding blossom
Open charms as sweet as thine.
Till that time may joys unceasing
Thy bard's every wish fulfil.
When that's come may joys increasing
Make thee blest and happier still.
Flourish fair, thou flower of Jessies,
Pride of each admiring swain--
Envy of despairing lasses--
Queen of Walkherd's lovely plain.