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To Margaret W------

Margaret, in happy hour
Christen’d from that humble flower
     Which we a daisy call!
May thy pretty name—sake be
In all things a type of thee,
     And image thee in all.
 
 
Like it you show a modest face,
An unpretending native grace;—
     The tulip, and the pink,
The china and the damask rose,
And every flaunting flower that blows,
     In the comparing shrink.
 
 
Of lowly fields you think no scorn;
Yet gayest gardens would adorn,
     And grace, wherever set.
Home—seated in your lonely bower,
Or wedded—a transplanted flower—
     I bless you, Margaret!
Otras obras de Charles Lamb...



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