FROM Nature and her sweet communion torn,
O say what hand unpitying placed me here?
Without a breeze my fading form to cheer,
A pris’ner, drooping, pensive, and forlorn.
Scarce can a sun-beam glance athwart the gloom,
Whilst every stem drives bleakly o’er my head.
Would that the earth might hide me in her bed,
Since here I fade, and never more can bloom!
O Lady! from yon window’s shaded height
Look with compassion on my fate beneath;
Bind not thy brow with art’s ficititious wreath,
But give to me that happier, envied right;
Or ah! transplant me to thy garden fair,
And Gratitude will find an Eden there.
(Mrs. Walter Spencer)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Fairness PoemsBased on Keywords: transplant, bleakly