THE ROSEBUD

by: William Broome (1689-1745)

UEEN 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 Cleopatra's but a name:

Time must indent that heavenly brow,

And thou must be what they are now.