To see her is a Picture —
To hear her is a Tune —
To know her an Intemperance
As innocent as June —
To know her not — Affliction —
To own her for a Friend
A warmth as near as if the Sun
Were shining in your Hand.
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To tell the Beauty would decrease
To state the Spell demean —
There is a syllable-less Sea
Of which it is the sign —
My will endeavors for its word
And fails, but entertains
A Rapture as of Legacies —
Of introspective Mines — -
Plant of a hundred years! destroying Time
Passes thy gentle race with hurrying trend,
Leaves their bright petals colorless and dim,
Strews with their withered leaves the mossy bed,
And sweeps them onward with the countless dead,
Ere the swift...TAKE your candles away, let your music be mute,
My dancing, however, you shall not dispute;
Jenny's eyes shall find light, and I'll find a flute."The Prophets, do they live forever?" -- Zech. I. 5.
Those spirits God ordained,
To stand the watchmen on the outer wall,
Upon whose souls the beams of truth first fall;
They who reveal the ideal, the unattained,
And to their age, in stirring tones...
Dear Sir, when late in town you chose
To correspond no more in prose,
My viscious muse---(but 'tis in vain
Of her abuses to complain)---
Neglects to aid, as I expected,
And so I must be self-directed.
You've broke th' agreement, Sir, I find;
(Excuse me, I must speak my mind...
From plains and peaceful cots I send
The humble wishes of a friend:
May love still spread his silken wing,
And life to you be ever spring:
May virtue guide you with her clue,
Life's mazy path to wander thro';
And may your offspring the blest tract pursue:
On you may Heav'n...
Dear brother, to these happy shades repair,
And leave, Oh leave the city's noxious air:
I'll try description, friend---methinks I see
'Twill influence your curiosity.
Before our door a meadow flies the eye,
Circled by hills, whose summits croud the sky;
The silver lily there exalts her...Is there a man who would not be,
My Celia, what is priz'd by thee?
A monkey beau, to please thy sight,
Would wish to be a monkey quite.
Or (couldst thou be delighted so)
Each man of sense would be a beau.
Courtiers would quit their faithless skill,
To be thy faithful dog ...LET it not Celia's gentle heart perplex
That Gay severe hath satiriz'd her sex;
Had they, like her, a tenderness but known,
Back on himself each pointed dart had flown.
But blame thou last, in whose accomplish'd mind
The strongest satire on thy sex we find.