 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
82
TO ELIZA SUTTON.
Thou know'st how I, a child, twined wreaths of flowersAnd weeds—for thee, a child too,—in gone hours
Of dear romance. Another Wreath is here
Made, still, of flowers and weeds. Around the dear
Presentment, I have woven it, of thy brow,
That they who shall behold this Garland now,
Seeing my hand thereon, may also see
Thy head therein, and at once mindful be
Of me, the weaver, and the wearer, thee.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |