O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!

And look not up so fresh and bright!

The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r,

Will spoil thy beauties ere the night.

I grieve to see thee look so gay.

And so unconscious of thy lot,

For gloom and tempests wait thy day,

And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not!

Thy tender leaflets all unfold,

Their colours ripen and refine,

Become most lovely to behold,

And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine.

Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!

I grieve to see thee look so gay!

Close thy soft wings against the show'r,

And wait a more auspicious day!