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Poem by Charlotte Turner Smith


Sonnet 1. The partial Muse, has from my earliest hours


THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours,
Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread,
And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers,
To weave fantastic garlands for my head:
But far, far happier is the lot of those
Who never learn'd her dear delusive art;
Which, while it decks the head with many a rose,
Reserves the thorn, to fester in the heart.
For still she bids soft Pity's melting eye
Stream o'er the ills she knows not to remove,
Points every pang, and deepens every sigh
Of mourning friendship or unhappy love.
Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost,
If those paint sorrow best--who feel it most! 



Charlotte Turner Smith


Charlotte Turner Smith's other poems:
  1. Sonnet Written in the Churchyard at Middleton in Sussex
  2. Sonnet 32. To Melancholy. Written on the Banks of the Arun, October, 1785
  3. Sonnet 26. To the River Arun
  4. Sonnet 55. The Return of the Nightingale. Written in May, 1791
  5. Sonnet 15. From Petrarch (WHERE the green leaves exclude the summer beam)


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