TO MOLLIE BROWN.
ON HER SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY,
Sixteen! that sweet, poetic age, On which we love to dwell;It throws around a maiden's heart A soft and witching spell.'T is as the early morning dew Upon a rose-bud thrown—'T is as that rose-bud's timid blush Before 't is fully blown.
Thy young heart now is bright and gay, 'T is free from every care;And all the flowers of youthful joy Bloom fresh and fragrant there.The radiant light of girlish hope Beams sweetly from thine eye,As brightly as a star that gems The summer twilight sky.
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