The poet's fancy takes from Flora's realm <br />Her buds and leaves to dress fictitious powers, <br />With the green olive shades Minerva's helm, <br />And give to Beauty's queen, the queen of flowers. <br />But what gay blossoms of luxuriant spring, <br />With rose, mimosa, amaranth entwined, <br />Shall fabled Sylphs and fairy people bring, <br />As a just emblem of the lovely mind? <br />In vain the mimic pencil tries to blend <br />The glowing dyes that dress the flowery race, <br />Scented and colour'd by a hand divine! <br />Ah! not less vainly would the Muse pretend, <br />On her weak lyre, to sing the native grace <br />And native goodness of a soul like thine!<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxxvii-4/
