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These tend, I prithee; and for me,
(With a hand-glass)
PICTURE-FRAME for you to fill,
A paltry setting for your face,
A thing that has no worth until
I send (unhappy I that sing
Laid by awhile upon the shelf) Because I would not send a thing Less charming than you are yourself.
And happier than I, alas!
(Dumb thing, I envy its delight)
'T will wish you well, the looking-glass, And look you in the face to-night.
TO K. DE M.
LOVER of the moorland bare,
And honest country winds, you were;
Winds that in darkness fifed a tune,
And as the berry, pale and sharp,
The berry ripened keeps the rude
Around you still the curlew sings
TO N. V. DE G. S.
HE unfathomable sea, and time, and
The deeds of heroes and the crimes of kings
Has, for an age of years, to east and west
And from the shore hear inland voices call. Strange is the seaman's heart; he hopes, he fears;
Draws closer and sweeps wider from that
Last, his rent sail refits, and to the deep His shattered prow uncomforted puts back. Yet as he goes he ponders at the helm