 | Poems by Three Friends |  |
129
TO MARY.
Yes, Mary, I have journeyed long,
In life's eventful morn,
The roseate bowers of Love among,
And felt its keenest thorn;
Yet would'st thou but the wish befriend,
With thee should all my journeyings end.
In life's eventful morn,
The roseate bowers of Love among,
And felt its keenest thorn;
Yet would'st thou but the wish befriend,
With thee should all my journeyings end.
And I have strung the Harp of Love
To many a fair one's praise,
And I have heard her lips approve
The fond, but artless lays;
Yet wouldst thou bless its simple tone,
That harp were strung for thee alone.
To many a fair one's praise,
And I have heard her lips approve
The fond, but artless lays;
Yet wouldst thou bless its simple tone,
That harp were strung for thee alone.
| Poems by Three Friends | |