Lines For A Scrap-Book - Poem by John Kenyon
Gay register of harmless mirth,
Record of dear domestic hours;
The votive hand, which gave thee birth,
Now wreathes thy parting page with flowers.
Such mirth is reason's—virtue's treasure—
And they who, ere life's scrap-book closes,
Have filled the leaves with guiltless pleasure,
Shall find the Finis wrought in roses.
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