GRATITUDE.
31
Gratitude.
O could I dip my barbarous quill
In fountains of cerulean ink,
And catch the merry, mellow trill
Of robin red or bobolink,
I'd frame, in tuneful, tinkling phrase,
For him of bounteous works and ways
Who well deserves this meed of praise,
The sweetest of all lyric lays!
In fountains of cerulean ink,
And catch the merry, mellow trill
Of robin red or bobolink,
I'd frame, in tuneful, tinkling phrase,
For him of bounteous works and ways
Who well deserves this meed of praise,
The sweetest of all lyric lays!
If I could call the angels down,
And from their own bright jewels cull
A star to glisten in his crown—
With sparkling gems already full—
'T would faintly show my gratitude
To one whose gracious deference stood
As recompense for conduct rude
From grosser natures interviewed.
And from their own bright jewels cull
A star to glisten in his crown—
With sparkling gems already full—
'T would faintly show my gratitude
To one whose gracious deference stood
As recompense for conduct rude
From grosser natures interviewed.
If I, so notable, could weave
A shining robe, like silver lawn,
On some ambrosial, amber eve
I'd beg of him to put it on;
That its enchanting folds might gleam
Before his dazzled eyes, and seem
Symbolical of true esteem
For him of whom I dare to dream.
A shining robe, like silver lawn,
On some ambrosial, amber eve
I'd beg of him to put it on;
That its enchanting folds might gleam
Before his dazzled eyes, and seem
Symbolical of true esteem
For him of whom I dare to dream.
