Of folly weary, shrinking from the view
Of violence and fraud, allowed to take
All peace from humble life, I would forsake
Their haunts for ever, and, sweet nymph! with you
Find shelter; where my tired and tear-swoln eyes,
Among your silent shades of soothing hue,
Your "bells and florets of unnumbered dyes"
Might rest--and learn the bright varieties
That from your lovely hands are fed with dew;
And every veinéd leaf that trembling sighs
In mead or woodland; or in wilds remote;
Or lurk with mosses in the humid caves,
Mantle the cliffs, on dimpling rivers float,
Or stream from coral rocks beneath the ocean waves.
Charlotte Smith (1749-1806)
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