Poems (Betham)/To Mrs. T. Fancourt

by Matilda Betham

TO Mrs. T. FANCOURT, July 15, 1503, 

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I love not yon gay, painted flower,
 Of bold and coarsely blended dye.
But one, whose nicely varied power
 May long detain the curious eye.

I love the tones that softly rise,
 And in a fine accordance close;
That waken no abrupt surprise,
 Nor leave us to inert repose.

I love the moon's pure, holy light,
 Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream;
The gale, fresh from the wings of night,
 Which drinks the early solar beam;

The smile of heaven, when storms subside,
 When the moist clouds first break away;
The sober tints of even-tide,
 Ere yet forgotten by the day.

Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please,
 And set my wearied spirit free:
And one who takes delight in these,
 Can never fail of loving thee!