To The Right Honourable The Lady Sarah Cowper. - Poem by Mary Barber
Let me the Honour soon obtain,
For which I long have hop'd in vain;
Since I, alas! am now confin'd,
Your Visit would be doubly kind.
What Sorrows have I not to fear,
Ty'd to the Bed of Sickness here?
When all that's human, quits the Place,
And Winter shews his horrid Face;
Whilst Desolation proudly stalks
Along the dull, deserted Walks.
Methinks the Skies already lour;
Loud, from the Hills, the Torrents pour;
The Shops are shut; the Days are dark;
And scarce a Dog is left to bark.
O, shield me from the dreadful Storms,
Which my distemper'd Fancy forms!
The thoughtless Fair the Toilet prize,
There practise Smiles, and point their Eyes:
But Cowper, negligent of Art,
Chose, early wise, the better Part.
Yet from your Mind some Moments spare;
The Stranger be a--while your Care,
Who now beneath Affliction bends,
Far from her Country, and her Friends.
Come, and my anxious Heart relieve:
For in your Presence who could grieve?
Comments about To The Right Honourable The Lady Sarah Cowper. by Mary Barber
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You