 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
8
SONNET TO MY OWN NOSE.
O nose! thou rudder in my face's centre,Since I must follow thee until I die,—
Since we are bound together by indenture,
The master thou, and the apprentice I,
O be to your Telemachus a Mentor,
Though oft invisible, for ever nigh;
Guard him from all disgrace and misadventure,
From hostile tweak, or Love's blind mastery.
So shalt thou quit the city's stench and smoke,
For hawthorn lanes and copses of young oak,
9
Lost their fresh fragrance, since the morning broke,
And breath of flowers “with rosy may-dews wet,”
The primrose, cowslip, blue-bell, violet.
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |