ODE XIX


???I doe not feele the Storme,
Which vexes you, in the too soone Decay
Of your fair gardens verdure. Where noe Spray
?Lookes green, noe Flower
But run into his root;
?Your fruit trees lower;
You cannot set your foot
In all your Garden on a liveing worme.

???The glorie of your Toyle,
The high-pris'd Tulip, has noe Colour now;
The Gilly-flowers are dead; the Rose can show
?Nor Red, nor Smell,
T'envite the willing Sence.
?Who now can tell,
The violets residence?
The Sweet briar drye, the Lillie has noe foyle.

???When I, beyond the Rage
Of Time, or winters malice, now can Show
A liveing Paradice; and lead you, through
?Greene Alleys, set
With ever verdant flowers;
?The violet
Wants odour, to the worst of ours;
Trim Nature stands here, in firme Equipage.

???I have a Rose, will keepe
Its Scent, and beautie, to another Spring;
(Nor wonder that I say it) I can bring
?This verie Day,
(Dead winter haveing nipt
?Yours into Clay)
A goodly Tulip, Stript
In Gold and Purple; Nature not asleepe.

???How doe they drop away?
Your flowers, and Joyes together? Goe with me
Into Apolloes Garden; you shall see,
?To mocke at yours
And frustrate all your Thought,
?A bed of Flowers,
Into quaint mazes wrought;
The Muses bower, under the liveing Bay.