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TO A POET'S WIFE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


182

TO A POET'S WIFE.

She, who in lonely pride may wear
The laurel on her brow,
And sit beneath its chilling shade,
Is far less blest than thou.
A higher happiness is thine,
To hear the voice of Fame
Re-echo in her silver tones,
The one beloved name.