 | Poems |  |
SONNET XV.
Nor beautiful art thou, nor proudly gracedWith fashion's vain accomplishments: thy mind
By artificial culture unrefined,
Not boasting pungent wit, or polish'd taste.
Yet seldom fondest parent hath embraced
A lovelier child; for never heart more kind,
With sweet and gentle courtesy combined,
Was so by affectation undebased:
Therefore, sweet girl, oft wearied with the blaze
Of intellectual womanhood, to thee
I turn for brief repose, and love to gaze
On thy most innocent simplicity;
With joy beholding, in thy winning ways,
How lovely goodness in itself may be.
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