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Poems
and Essays
by
Joseph Howe
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TO
MARY.
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Oh!
blame me not, Mary, for gazing at you,
Nor suppose that my thoughts
from the Preacher were straying.
Tho’ I stole a few glances—believe me
’tis true—
They were sweet illustrations
of what he was saying.
For, when he observed that Perfection was not
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To
be found upon the Earth—for a moment I bent
A look upon you—and could swear on the spot,
That perfection in Beauty
was not what he meant.
And when, with emotion, the worthy Divine
On the doctrine of loving
our neighbors insisted,
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I
felt if their forms were as faultless as thine,
I could love every soul
of them while I existed.
And Mary, I’m sure ’twas the fault of
those eyes—
’Twas the lustre of
them to the error gave birth—
That, while he spoke of Angels that dwelt in the
Skies,
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was gazing with rapture at one upon Earth. [Page
124] |
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