SOPHROSYNE, companion dear,
Who hangs a pearl in Pity's ear,
And wanders through the dewy lawn
To catch the rose-bud newly blown,
And tied yon knot of fringy flowers,
And darken'd all the grove with bowers;
Who bade yon Lily of the Vale
Tell o'er her artless simple tale;
That, going to queen Flora's court,
Where once a year flowers all resort,
She wander'd through the woodlands wide,
And saw the babbling streamlet glide,
With many a Daisy sitting here,
And many a Cowslip walking there,
And many a Harebell tinkling loud,
And many a Pansy dress'd and proud,
And many a Primrose faint and pale,
All stationed up and down the dale;
With these acquaintance soon she made,
And lov'd the flowers that lov'd the shade;
Ask'd Flora if she there might stay,
And shun the fervour of the day;
And when the Primrose pale should die,
With purer sweets her loss supply.