 | The poetical works of Samuel Rogers |  |
When, with a Réaumur's skill, thy curious mind
Has classed the insect-tribes of humankind,
Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
Its subtle web-work, or its venomed sting;
Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,
Point out the green lane rough with fern and flowers;
The sheltered gate that opens to my field,
And the white front thro' mingling elms revealed.
Has classed the insect-tribes of humankind,
Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
41
Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,
Point out the green lane rough with fern and flowers;
The sheltered gate that opens to my field,
And the white front thro' mingling elms revealed.
| The poetical works of Samuel Rogers | |