by John Moultrie
Nor beautiful art thou, nor proudly graced
With fashion's vain accomplishments; thy mind
By artificial culture unrefined,
Not boasting pungent wit, or polish'd taste.
Yet seldom fondest parent hath embraced
A lovelier child; for never heart more kind,
With sweet and gentle courtesy combined,
Was so by affectation undebased:
Therefore, sweet girl, oft wearied with the blaze
Of intellectual womanhood, to thee
I turn for brief repose, and love to gaze
On thy most innocent simplicity;
With joy beholding in thy winning ways
How lovely goodness in itself may be.
Last updated July 21, 2017