 | A book of Bristol sonnets |  |
60
DEATH OF A PARISHIONER.
A WALK TO THE DUCHESS' WOODS FROM BAPTIST MILLS, ON A MAY MORN.
Before the mill awakes I leave the vale;Up springs the lark, yet is not up the dew;
Their cud the kine, with thirsting udders, chew;
The milkman swings his silver-weighted scale;
With shining foot the shepherd leaves his trail,
And every morning makes that trail anew!
Sad flowers the children plucked, and heedless threw,
Lead to the copse where rests the nightingale;
What tender hints of youth, and health's excess;
How careless those, and how unworthy I!
These wildings plucked some sick man's rooms to bless,
For my sole guidance dropt and left to die!
How like the lowly lives, whose sweet decay
Leads us, through mists of morn, with joy upon our way!
| A book of Bristol sonnets | |