by John Cunningham
ON WIDOW MADDER .
Where no ripen'd summer glows,
In the lap of northern snows;
Deserts gloomy, cold, and drear,
(Only let the nymph be there)
Wreaths of budding sweets would wear.
May would every fragrance bring,
All the vernal bloom of spring:
Dryads, deck'd with myrtles green,
Dancing, would attend their queen:
Every flower that Nature spreads,
Rising where the charmer treads!
Last updated January 14, 2019