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WILLIAM BROOME

1689-1745

457                                              The Rosebud

QUEEN of fragrance, lovely Rose,
The beauties of thy leaves disclose!
But thou, fair Nymph, thyself survey
In this sweet offspring of a day.
That miracle of face must fail,
Thy charms are sweet, but charms are frail:
Swift as the short-lived flower they fly,
At morn they bloom, at evening die:
Though Sickness yet a while forbears,
Yet Time destroys what Sickness spares:
Now Helen lives alone in fame,
And Cleopatras but a name:
Time must indent that heavenly brow,
And thou must be what they are now.

 

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