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FORESIGHT, Oi the Charge of a, Child to his yoinger Companion.

That is work which I am rueing—
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them — here are many:
Look at it—the Flower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.

Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne!

Pull as many as you can.

— Here are Daisies, take your fill;

Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower:

Of the lofty Daffodil

Make your bed, and make your bower;

Fill your lap, and fill your bosom;

Only spare the Strawberry-blossom 1

Primroses, the Spring may love them —
Summer knows but little of them:
Violets, do what they will,
Wither'd on the ground must lie;
Daisies will be daisies still;
Daisies they must live and die:
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom.
Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!

A COMPLAINT.

There is a change — and I am poor;
Your Love hath been, nor long ago,
A Fountain at my fond Heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.

What happy moments did I countt
Bless'd was I then all bliss above!
Now, for this consecrated Fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I ? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless, and hidden Well.

A Well of love— it may be deep—

I trust it is, and never dry:

What matter? if the Waters sleep

In silence and obscurity.

— Such change, and at the very door

Of my fond Heart, hath made me poor.

I am not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk,
About Friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or Neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:
And, for my chance-acquaintance, Ladies bright,
Sons, Mothers, Maidens withering on the stalk,
These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
Better than such discourse doth silence long,
Long, barren silence, square with my desire;
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
By my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire,
And listen to the flapping of the flame,
Or kettle, whispering it's faint undersong.

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