[Page 230]

Written at Rossana.

November 18, 1799.

1 OH, my rash hand! what hast thou idly done?
2 Torn from its humble bank the last poor flower
3 That patient lingered to this wintery hour:
4 Expanding cheerly to the languid sun
5 It flourished yet, and yet it might have blown,
6 Had not thy sudden desolating power
7 Destroyed what many a storm and angry shower
8 Had pitying spared. The pride of summer gone,
9 Cherish what yet in faded life can bloom;
10 And if domestic love still sweetly smiles,
11 If sheltered by thy cot he yet beguiles
12 Thy winter's prospect of its dreary gloom,
13 Oh, from the spoiler's touch thy treasure screen,
14 To bask beneath Contentment's beam serene!

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    About this text

    Title (in Source Edition): Written at Rossana. November 18, 1799.
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    Genres: sonnet

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    Psyche, With Other Poems. London: Printed for LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW, 1811, p. 230. 314p. (Page images digitized by University of California Libraries.)

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