Sonnet. To A Village In Suffolk, The Residence Of A Friend Poem by Susan Evance

BLAKENHAM! although thy bounded scenes among
No forests wave, no lofty hills arise,
Whence far-stretch'd prospects meet the raptur'd eyes-
No winding sea-dasht shores to thee belong,
Skirted by wild and rocky solitudes,
"Sublimities that most delight the mind"
Yet Blakenham, thy still meads where riv'lets wind,
Thy corn-fields waving 'neath the rustling breeze,
And thy secluded copses- they are dear
To me; and when I go far, far away,
Full oft amid thy scenes will memory stray.
Ah! virtue, taste, refinement pure are here;
And these, when view'd by fond affection's eye,
Give thee an interest- which shall never die!