89
If now, instead of verse sublime,
I end this dull insipid rhyme,
By writing but—my name.
A. M. Nealds.
I end this dull insipid rhyme,
By writing but—my name.
A. M. Nealds.
WRITTEN IN WHITE-HOUSE WOOD,THE FAVOURITE WALK OF THE AUTHOR.
Bright glows the west, the setting sun
Now softly sinks behind the trees,
The busy toil of day is done,
And peasants court the sweets of ease.
Now softly sinks behind the trees,
The busy toil of day is done,
And peasants court the sweets of ease.
I wander now in pensive mood,
In solitude an hour to spend,
In the dark mazes of the wood,
And think upon my absent friend.
In solitude an hour to spend,
In the dark mazes of the wood,
And think upon my absent friend.
