Sonnet. to Genevra
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the...
This is a poetry & verse.
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow: And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes--but, oh! While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.…
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