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TO MY WIFE.
DEC. 25, 1844.
Presents enough to suit my mind
For all the rest I see,
None, dearest, fit for thee.
Not earthly gift could e'er repay
The joy thou art to me, Nor of purest flame betray
The love I bear to thee.
Where golden gifts too poor would shine,
Their want expressive be:
Myself, I give to thee.
TO S. M. G.
Scarce arrived at bright sixteen,
TO MRS. BOSE.
Fair Mrs. Bose
She keepeth close,
Through wet and cold
Comes Charley bold,
When she is nigh,
Her happy eye
And when away,
A blessed ray
Her words, that flow
In music low, Are drowned when the storm-wind blusters;
Yet kind words fly
To friends near by, Disguised in juicy clusters.
Ah! Mrs. Bose,
She keeps too close, Though far her kindness reaches
That joyous smile
Of the Emerald Isle Is better than grapes and peaches. 1847.
TO A LADY.
UPON RECEIVING A PAIR OF EMBROIDERED SLIPPERS.
Fair fingers, for a poet's feet,
Have woven honours rich and rare; Poetic feet, as is most meet,
Shall celebrate those fingers fair.
Those fingers wrought on a plain illumed
By the warm light of sunny eyesWhat wonder if the landscape bloomed,
Bright as the flowers of Eastern skies!
What wonder, if that landscape stole
The grace and beauty beaming o'er, And the soft splendour of the whole,
Glowed like a smile I've seen before !
Henceforth, where'er my footsteps stray,
New charms shall flash a glory round; My path, with blooming honours gay,
Like summer's foot-prints deck the ground.