Perhaps from Nature's earliest May, Imperisliable 'midst decay,
Thy seif-renewing race Have breathed their haJmy lives away
In this neglected place.
And O, till Nature's final doom, Here unmolested may they bloom,
From scythe and plough secure. This bank their cradle and their tomb,
"While earth and skies endure !
Yet, lowly Cowslip, while in thee An old unalter'd friend I see,
Fresh in perennial prime ; From Spring to Spring behold in me
The woes and waste of Time.