Classic Poem

On receiving from her a Purse.

This present, wrought by thy fair hands for me,
Sweet friend! believe me, I shall dearly prize,
For it will waken kindly thoughts of thee,
(Thoughts ever welcome!) when it meets my eyes.

And, while it wakes those welcome thoughts, 'twill bring
Dear recollections of affection, taught
To part with all its former sorrowing,
And taste of feelings that are rapture-fraught.

Not that there needs this token to restore,
To the fond eye of mind or memory,
A form where both delight to find a store
Of beauties which must ever matchless be! —

Ah, no! — too many varying thoughts combine,
Gloomy or glad, to kindle memory;
Yet, whatsoe'er of sorrow may be mine,
May there be only joy for thine and thee!