Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred.[552:1]
A Sketch.
In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
Stanzas to Augusta.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
Epistle to Augusta. Stanza 3.
When all of genius which can perish dies.