116
TO MRS. G. W.
I 'll twine for thee a minstrel wreath,
And pure affection o'er it breathe;
And, simple though my offering be,
I 'll wake a poet's lyre for thee.
And pure affection o'er it breathe;
And, simple though my offering be,
I 'll wake a poet's lyre for thee.
My sister!—yes, in name and heart
All which that word conveys thou art;
As dear, as loved, as thou couldst be
Had the same parent nurtured thee!—
All which that word conveys thou art;
As dear, as loved, as thou couldst be
Had the same parent nurtured thee!—
I will not in these simple lays
Offend thine ear with idle praise,
Offend thine ear with idle praise,
