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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455583" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Written From Dublin, To A Lady In The Country.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A wretch, in smoaky Dublin pent,<br>Who rarely sees the Firmament,<br>You graciously invite, to view<br>The Sun's enliv'ning Rays with you;<br>To change the Town for flow'ry Meads,<br>And sing beneath the sylvan Shades.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You're kind in vain -- It will not be --<br>Retirement was deny'd to me;<br>Doom'd by inexorable Fate,<br>To pass thro' crouded Scenes I hate.<br>O with what Joy could I survey<br>The rising, glorious Source of Day!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Attend the Shepherd's fleecy Care,<br>Transported with the vernal Air;<br>Behold the Meadow's painted Pride,<br>Or see the limpid Waters glide;<br>Survey the distant, shaded Hills,<br>And, pensive, hear the murm'ring Rills.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thro' your Versailles with Pleasure rove,<br>Admire the Gardens, and the Grove;<br>See Nature's bounteous Hand adorn<br>The blushing Peach, and blooming Thorn;<br>Beheld the Birds distend their Throats,<br>And hear their wild, melodious Notes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Delighted, thro' your Pastures roam,<br>Or see the Kine come lowing home;<br>Whose od'rous Breaths a Joy impart,<br>That sooths the Sense, and glads the Heart;<br>With Pleasure view the frothing Pails,<br>And silent hear the creaking Rails;<br>See whistling Hinds attend their Ploughs,<br>Who never hear of broken Vows;<br>Where no Ambition to be great,<br>E'er taught the Nymph, or Swain, Deccit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus thro' the Day, delighted, run;<br>Then raptur'd view the setting Sun;<br>The rich, diffufive God behold,<br>On distant Mountains pouring Gold,<br>Gilding the beauteous, rising Spire,<br>While Crystal Windows glow with Fire;<br>Gaze, till he quit the Western Skies,<br>And long to see his Sister rise;<br>Prefer the silent, Silver Moon<br>To the too radiant, noisy Noon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or Northward turn, with new Delight,<br>To mark what Triumphs wait the Night;<br>When Shepherds think the Heav'ns foreshow<br>Some dire Commotions here below;<br>When Light the human Form assumes,<br>And Champions meet with nodding Plumes,<br>With Silver Streamers, wide unfurl'd,<br>And gleaming Spears amaze the World.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thence to the higher Heav'ns I soar,<br>And the great Architect adore;<br>Behold what Worlds are hung in Air,<br>And view ten thousand Empires there;<br>Then prostrate to Jehovah fall,<br>Who into Being spake them all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Barber">Mary Barber</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455583" data-title="Written From Dublin, To A Lady In The Country. de Mary Barber" data-description="A wretch, in smoaky Dublin pent,
Who rarely sees the Firmament,
You graciously invite, to view
The Sun's enliv'ning Rays with you;
To change the Town for flow'ry Meads,
And sing beneath the sylvan Shades.

You're kind in vain -- It will not be --
..."></div>
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