A blossom full of promise is life's joy,
That never comes to fruit; hope, for a time,
Suns the young floweret in its gladsome light,
And it looks flourishing—a little while,
Tis past, we know not whither, but 'tis gone—

(19th January 1822) Poetic Sketches, No.2 - The London Literary Gazette - 1821-1822