Poem by Thomas Gent

* * *

Come, Jenny, let me sip the dew,
That on those coral lips doth play,
One kiss would every care subdue,
And bid my weary soul be gay.

For surely, thou wert form'd by love
To bless the suffrer's parting sigh;
In pity then, my griefs remove,
And on that bosom let me die! 

1. Sonnet On seeing a Young Lady I had previously known, confined in a Madhouse
2. Impromptu
3. Written on Seeing the Children of the Naval Asylum
4. Mature Reflections
5. Written on the Death of General Washington

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