XIII. A FLOWER GARDEN. TELL me, ye Zephyrs! that unfold, While fluttering o'er this gay Recess, Pinions that fanned the teeming mould Of Eden's blissful wilderness, Did only softly-stealing Hours There close the peaceful lives of flowers? Say, when the moving Creatures saw All kinds commingled without fear, Prevailed a like indulgent law For the still Growths that prosper here? Did wanton Fawn and Kid forbear The half-blown Rose, the Lily spare? Or peeped they often from their beds If such their harsh untimely doom, It falls not here on bud or bloom. All Summer long the happy Eve From the next glance she casts, to find Is rendered vain as love for great. Yet, where the guardian Fence is wound, So subtly is the eye beguiled It sees not nor suspects a Bound, No more than in some forest wild ; Free as the light in semblance—crost And, though the jealous turf refuse By random footsteps to be prest, Ye, gentle breezes from the West, And hither throngs of Birds resort; Some, inmates lodged in shady nests, Apt emblem (for reproof of pride) This delicate Enclosure shows Of modest kindness, that would hide Of manners, like its viewless fence, Ensuring peace to innocence. |