Madam, the flower that I received from you,
Ere I came home, had lost its lovely hue:
As flowers deprived of the genial day,
Its sprightly bloom did wither and decay;
Dear, fading flower, I know full well, said I,
The reason why you shed your sweets and die;
You want the influence of her enlivening eye.
Your case is mine -- Absence, that plague of love!
With heavy pace makes every minute move:
It of my being is an empty blank,
And hinders me myself with men to rank;
Your cheering presence quickeneth me again,
And new-sprung life exults in every vein.
More verses by James Thomson
- To The Memory Of The Right Honourable Lord Talbot, Late Chancellor Of Great Britain. Addressed To His Son.
- On Mrs Mendez' Birthday, Who Was Born On Valentine's Day
- Rambles In Autumn
- To The Same (Amanda) With A Copy Of The 'seasons'
- Winter