 | Poems |  |
SONNET III.
Dear friend, they tell me 'tis the happy day,(To me most happy) which beheld thy birth,
And, ere my name was written in the Earth,
Smiled on a rich and bountiful array
Of blessings, then provided, to allay
My future griefs, enhance my future mirth,
And in my future home, and round my hearth,
Cause pleasant gleams of light and love to play:
Therefore, dear friend, this day henceforth shall be
The holiest in my calendar of life,
Save two alone; the two which gave to me
First a betroth'd, and then a wedded wife,
Whom only love I more than I love thee;—
My dove of peace 'midst this world's toil and strife.
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