Classic Poem

Exulting on the balmy gale,
When Flora wakes the May-dew morn,
The Rose-bud all with rapture hail,
Sweet glory of the loveliest thorn!
Each day refines the rich perfume —
Glad Flora smiles — the zephyr blows —
While opening with a gradual bloom
The favourite ripens to a Rose.

Thus in our Susan's shape and face,
Respondent to her angel soul,
The growth of each attractive grace
We mark — as annual circles roll.
Advance, ye years! — And every charm,
Which Venus boasts, shall sure be given;
While fostering Friendship joys to form
Her mind, the fairest work of Heaven.