Текст оригинала на английском языке
To a Very Young Lady
Sweetest bud of beauty, may No untimely frost decay Th' early glories which we trace Blooming in thy matchless face: But kindly opening, like the rose, Fresh beauties every day disclose, Such as by Nature are not shown In all the blossoms she has blown: And then, what conquest shall you make, Who hearts already daily take! Scorch'd in the morning with thy beams, How shall we bear those sad extremes Which must attend thy threat'ning eyes When thou shalt to thy noon arise?
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