Henry Livingston, Jr.
Henry Livingston's Poetry




The winter all surly is flown,
The frost, and the ice, and the snow:
The violets already have blown,
Already the daffodils glow.

The forests and copses around,
Their foilage begin to display;
The copses and forests resound
With the music and disport of May.

E'er Phoebus has gladded the plains,
E'er? the mountains are tip'd with his gold.
The sky larks shrill matin proclaims,
A songster, harmonius as bold.

The Linnet, and Thrush, thro the day,
Join notes with the soft cooing dove;
Not a bush, but can witness a lay;
Or the softer endearments of Love.


At eve, when the shadows prevail;
And night throws her mantle around;
The nightingale warbles her tale
And harmony dwells in the sound.

The grasshopper chirps at our feet,
The butterfly wings it along,
The season of love will compleat
What they want in the raptures of song.

Not an insect that flits o'er the lawn
But gambols in pleasure and play,
Rejoicing the winter is gone,
And hailing the pleasanter May.

Let us join in their revels my dear!
To innocent joy give a loose!
No surfeits or harm can we fear
The pleasures we cannot abuse.

What is all the gay town can bestow?
That all its inhabitants share?
But trifles and glitter and show,
That cloy and displease as they glare.

These snares may entangle the weak;
But never the rational soul;
The flimsy enchantments will break
Where reason can never control.

By the side of a murmuring stream,
Where willows the margin imbrown;
We'll wander, unheeded, unseen,
Nor envy the taste of the town.

In scenes, where confusion and noise
And riots loud voice is unknown;
We'll humbly participate joys,
That ever from greatness have flown.

Let avarice smile o'er its gain,
Ambition exult at its height,
Dissipation unloose every rein,
In pursuit of forbidden delight.

We'll cling to our cottage, my love,
There a meeting with bliss we ensure.
The Seraphs who carol above
Must smile on enjoyments so pure.


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Written Out for Locust Grove Children








        
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