< Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf
If thou art blest, my mother's smile
Sweet as the noise in parchèd plains
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4
POEMS.
vi.
Undimmed, if bees are on the wing:
Then cease, my friend, a little while,
That I may hear the throstle sing
His bridal song, the boast of spring.
vii.
Of bubbling wells that fret the stones,
(If any sense in me remains)
Thy words will be; thy cheerful tones
As welcome to my crumbling hones.
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