 | Sonnets by the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson] |  |
77
TO A FRIEND.
My low deserts consist not with applauseSo kindly—when I fain would deem it so,
My sad heart, musing on its proper flaws,
Thy gentle commendation must forego;
As toys, which, glued together, hold awhile,
But, haply brought too near some searching fire,
Start from their frail compacture, and beguile
The child, that pieced them, of his fond desire:
I was a very child for that brief tide,
Whenas I join'd and solder'd thy good word
With my poor merits—'twas a moment's pride—
The flames of conscience sunder'd their accord:
My heart dropt off in sorrow from thy praise,
Self-knowledge baulk'd self-love so many ways.
| Sonnets by the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson] | |