To Miss Cruickshank（2 / 2）
nor even sol too fiercely view
thy bosom blushing still with dew!
may'st thou long, sweet crimson gem,
richly deck thy native stem;
till some ev'ning, sober, calm,
dropping dews, and breathing balm,
while all around the woodland rings,
and ev'ry bird thy requiem sings;
thou, amid the dirgeful sound,
shed thy dying honours round,
and resign to parent earth
the loveliest form she e'er gave birth.
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