Poem by Mary Wortley Montagu

Written at Lovere, 1755

Wisdom, slow product of laborious years,
The only fruit that life's cold winter bears;
Thy sacred seeds in vain in youth we lay,
By the fierce storm of passion torn away.
Should some remain in a rich gen'rous soil,
They long lie hid, and must be rais'd with toil;
Faintly they struggle with inclement skies,
No sooner born than the poor planter dies. 

1. Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana, or the Drawing-Room
2. An Elegy on Mrs. Thompson
3. To a Friend on His Travels
4. Verses Addressed to the Imitator...
5. Friday, the Toilette

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