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LYRICAL POEMS.
59
MARY.
GLORY’S wreath of endlessness
Tempts not to the poet’s strife,
’Tis my heart’s deep happiness
Wakes itself in song to life.
If these tones win commendation,
If they nought of censure know,
What care I? if approbation
From a single hand doth flow.
Cause of this sweet narrowness,
Thee to sing shall be my bliss;
Be, O gentle Mary mine,
Thou my muse and grace divine!
