Poems (Charlotte Allen)/To a Mosquito
TO A MOSQUITO.
Away, away thou little sprite, I 'm sure I never sought thee,And cannot tell this lovely night, What could have hither brought thee.
"Nothing is made in vain," they say; Thy mission, who can tell?I pray thee cease that buzzing lay, And seek some distant dell.
'T is quite enough thy notes to hear While day proclaims its reign;But, ah! when evening shades appear, 'T is misery, 'tis pain.
Retired to rest, the light blown out, When silence, lips is sealing,While all is calm within, without, And sleep 15 gently stealing;—
Thou comest softly to our side, Abuz—buz—buz—we hear,But wo thy tiny form betide, Should'st thou approach too near.
We raise the hand to chase away, We turn, and think thou 'rt gone;Oh, sad mistake! thou still doth stay, Singing thy vexing song.
Had I the power, I'd doom thy race To Afric's burning clime, So I no more could see thy face, Or thou could'st rest on mine.