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TO A BLANK SHEET OF PAPER.
WAN-VISAGED thing! thy virgin leaf
Who can thy unborn meaning scan?
Love may light on thy snowy cheek,
And shake his Eden-breathing plumes; Then shalt thou tell how Lelia smiles, Or Angelina blooms.
may lift his bearded lance, Forestalling Time's slow-moving scythe,
And, scattered on thy little field,
Perchance a vision of the night,
Some grizzled spectre, gaunt and thin,
Or sheeted corpse, may stalk along,
If it should be in pensive hour
Some sorrow-moving theme I try, Ah, maiden, how thy tears will fall, For all I doom to die!
But if in merry mood I touch
Thy leaves, then shall the sight of thee Sow smiles as thick on rosy lips As ripples on the sea.
The Weekly press shall gladly stoop
Thou hast no tongue, yet thou canst speak, Till distant shores shall hear the sound; Thou hast no life, yet thou canst breathe Fresh life on all around.
Thou art the arena of the wise,
The noiseless battle-ground of fame; The sky where halos may be wreathed Around the humblest name.
Take, then, this treasure to thy trust,
To win some idle reader's smile, Then fade and moulder in the dust,
Or swell some bonfire's crackling pile!
TO AN INSECT.
I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice,
Thou testy little dogmatist,
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,-
Thou art a female, Katydid!
That quivers through thy piercing notes,
I think there is a knot of you