⁠Which April gives to glad the field,
Which makes all flourishing the plain,
⁠And seeds their stores to yield.

Be not disdainful then, but kind:
⁠Know not to certain beauteous eyes
Alone all beauty is confined,
⁠Or locks of golden dyes.

Vain puff'd-up beauty will appear,
⁠But like some showy ivy stem;
They may surprise, but fruitless, ne'er
⁠Have any valuing them.

If join'd with kindness, like the vine
⁠It seems, with fruitful stores array'd;
Where all contentedly recline,
⁠Beneath its peaceful shade:

And whose green stems, the elm around,
⁠When twining with adorning grace
Its leaves, will hold it also bound,
⁠Firm in its fond embrace.

Flower of a day is beauty's bloom;
⁠Time leaves it soon behind: if e'er
Thou doubt'st my word, let Celia's doom
⁠The lesson true declare.