The fairest blossom of the north,
Returns by Thames’ gay side to bloom,
With liveliest hues and fragrant worth,
To cheer the winter’s leafless gloom.
May no dread storms in darkness lour
To bend the earth its tender head
No tempests crush so sweet a flower
Or rudely tear it from its bed.
Tho’ veiled in clouds the lord of day
Refuse to gild the barren land,
Yet friendship’s mild benignant ray
Shall bid the beauteous bud expand.
While love his genial warmth shall shed
Fill with new life its tender form,
And some tall oak shall screen its head,
From sad misfortune’s chilling storm.
Yet no! that tender flower disdains
The oaks protecting care to prove,
And cold and cheerless still remains
And shuns the genial warmth of love.
Yet still the willow by its side
Shall weep in silence its neglect,
And should the wintery storms arise
Shall screen it from their dire effect.
And if one smile of fragrance pay
Its tender zeal, its constant care,
Shall joyful bless the happy day,
It screened from ill a flower so fair.