The Wild Honey Suckle
Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in the silent vale,
Thou art the sweetest, the fairest, the fairest show, That I as yet may hail.
Sugar canst thou gather, or dew, And now a blossom all of a hue:
Yet in season’s motions, through all thy changing, Thrice welcome, beautiful flower! from thrice weeping.
Thus teaching my heart the whispering joy, A sweetly-humorous sender of my thoughts.
- Philip Freneau