Samuel Rogers

(30 July 1763 – 18 December 1855)

Poems of Samuel Rogers

An Epistle To A Friend

When, with a Reaumur's skill, thy curious mind
Has class'd the insect-tribes of human-kind,
Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
Its subtle, web-work, or its venom'd sting;
Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,
Point the green lane that leads thro' fern and flowers;
The shelter'd gate that opens to my field,
And the white front thro' mingling elms reveal'd.
In vain, alas, a village-friend invites

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