Will you accept this bud my dear,
Fit emblem of the coming year:
The bud expands, the flower blooms,
And gives awhile its rich perfumes:
Its strength decays, its leaf descends,
Its sweets are gone-its beauty ends,
Such is the year.-The morning brings
The bud of pleasure in its wings:
Hope, health, and fortune, smile their day,
And charm each threat'ning cloud away:
But gathering ills increase their force,
And though concealed-make sure their course.
They come-they press-they stand confest,
And disappointment tells the rest.