MIRANDA! mark where shrinking from the gale,
Its silken leaves yet moist with early dew,
That fair faint flower, the Lily of the vale
Droops its meek head, and looks, methinks, like you!
Wrapp'd in a shadowy veil of tender green,
Its snowy bells a soft perfume dispense,
And bending as reluctant to be seen,
In simple loveliness it sooths the sense.
With bosom bared to meet the garish day,
The glaring Tulip, gaudy, undismay'd,
Offends the eye of taste; that turns away
To seek the Lily in her fragrant shade.
With such unconscious beauty, pensive, mild,
Miranda charms--Nature's soft modest child.
More verses by Charlotte Smith
- Sonnet Lxxix. To The Goddess Of Botany
- Sonnet Xxvi. To The River Arun
- Sonnet Xxix. To Miss C----
- Sonnet Xxxi.
- Sonnet Xvii. From The Thirteenth Cantata Of Metastasio