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TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME SOME ROSES.
S late I rambled in the happy fields,
I thought the garden-rose it far excell’d;
My sense with their deliciousness was spellid : Soft voices had they, that with tender plea Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness
TO MY BROTHER GEORGE.
ANY the wonders I this day have seen :
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears Must think on what will be, and what has been. E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discover'd revels keeping. But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea ?