TO A LADY OF THIRTY
by: William Broome (1689-1745)
POEMS BY WILLIAM BROOME
- O more
let youth its beauty boast,
- S---n at thirty reigns a toast,
- And, like the Sun as he declines,
- More mildly, but more sweetly shines.
- The hand of Time alone disarms
- Her face of its superfluous charms:
- But adds, for every grace resign'd,
- A thousand to adorn her mind.
- Youth was her too inflaming time;
- This, her more habitable clime:
- How must she then each heart engage,
- Who blooms like youth, is wise in age!
- Thus the rich orange-trees produce
- At once both ornament, and use:
- Here opening blossoms we behold,
- There fragrant orbs of ripen'd gold.