And when my body’s turn’d to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
O let them give a sigh and say—
I hear the upstairs bell.
TO MARY HOUSEMAID,
ON VALENTINE’S DAY.
Mary, you know I’ve no love-nonsense,
And, though I pen on such a day,
I don’t mean flirting, on my conscience,
Or writing in the courting way.
Though Beauty hasn’t form’d your feature,