To H. M. W.
ON READING HER POEMS.


Blest is the bard, whose modest pride,
Unlured by vapour gleams of wit,
Still clings to nature as a guide
With following feet, that fear to quit.
And blest are they, who o'er life's road,
Too often treacherous or abrupt,
Tho' guile betray and malice goad,
Move kindly on and uncorrupt.
But doubly blessëd is thy part,
Who, 'mid bad taste—bad world—still true,
Preserv'st simplicity of heart,
As woman, and as poct, too.