A Sonnet
T O M. M. S. ON HER BIRTH-DAY .
Something of April's showers and sweet sunshine,
Something of April's bright and changeful skies,
Hath mingled tears and laughter in thine eyes;
Her fairness—like first flowers, and budding vine—
Her freshness and her beauty, are like thine:
Thy gracious ways, thy smiles, thy soft-drawn sighs,
Are April's own, and when the clouds arise,
Thy soul breaks through them, like her light divine.
Oh to be young and fair, and free from fears—
And loved of many, and by all admired,
The light heart burthened, with lighTOne-score years;
Not much hath life beside to be desired;
And these be thine, dear maid;—God speed thee fair!
And may thy pure heart never taste despair.
April 5th.
Something of April's showers and sweet sunshine,
Something of April's bright and changeful skies,
Hath mingled tears and laughter in thine eyes;
Her fairness—like first flowers, and budding vine—
Her freshness and her beauty, are like thine:
Thy gracious ways, thy smiles, thy soft-drawn sighs,
Are April's own, and when the clouds arise,
Thy soul breaks through them, like her light divine.
Oh to be young and fair, and free from fears—
And loved of many, and by all admired,
The light heart burthened, with lighTOne-score years;
Not much hath life beside to be desired;
And these be thine, dear maid;—God speed thee fair!
And may thy pure heart never taste despair.
April 5th.
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