Poem by Thomas Gent

Morning

   Sonnet

Light as the breeze that hails the infant morn
  The Milkmaid trips, as o'er her arm she slings
  Her cleanly pail, some fav'rite lay she sings
As sweetly wild and cheerful as the horn.
O! happy girl I may never faithless love,
  Or fancied splendour, lead thy steps astray;
  No cares becloud the sunshine of thy day,
Nor want e'er urge thee from thy cot to rove.
What though thy station dooms thee to be poor,
  And by the hard-earn'd morsel thou art fed;
  Yet sweet content bedecks thy lowly bed,
And health and peace sit smiling at thy door:
Of these possess'd—thou hast a gracious meed,
Which Heaven's high wisdom gives, to make thee rich indeed!

1. Mature Reflections
2. The Grave of Dibdin
3. Invocation to Sleep
4. Written on Seeing the Children of the Naval Asylum
5. Written in the Album of the Lady of Counsellor D. Pollock

Mary Robinson Morning ("O’ER fallow plains and fertile meads")

Print

1727 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version