No wonder bards, both high and low,
From Byron down to ***** and me,
Should seek the fame which all bestow
On him whose task is praising thee.
Let but the theme be Jersey's eyes,
At once all errors are forgiven;
As even old Sternhold still we prize,
Because, tho' dull, he sings of heaven.
To The Same. On Looking Through Her Album.
Thomas Moore
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Poem topics: heaven, high, bestow, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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