VI
The wild bee, sips its honied store,
Disporting on, from flower, to flower;
The humming birds its sweets explore,
Shut from the precincts of the bower.
VII
And such, fair maid, thy modest mein,
It shuns the gazer’s vulgar eye,
Nor seek’st thou, eager to be seen,
The croud, where pleasure’s vot’ries hie.
VIII
But social virtues deck thy name,
A sympathetic heart is thine,
A soul that knows, nor guilt, nor shame,
Fraught with fair virtue’s power divine.
IX
Each grace that nature can impart,
Each generous feeling, too is thine,
Sincerity, that foe to art,
Richer than diamond of the mine.
X
May thy resemblance e’er remain,
To that soft, sympathetic flower;
Thy hues of grace, without a stain,
Await you to your latest hour.