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TO MARY.
Ah where are the blossoms of hope,
That liv'd in my bosom awhile,
They are wither'd ere yet they cou'd ope—
They are gone like the treacherous smile.
That liv'd in my bosom awhile,
They are wither'd ere yet they cou'd ope—
They are gone like the treacherous smile.
Ah surely they never had thriv'd,
If they had not been planted by you;
They can never again be reviv'd;
You have poison'd the spot where they grew.
If they had not been planted by you;
They can never again be reviv'd;
You have poison'd the spot where they grew.
