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Poem by Mary Robinson


To Cesario


CESARIO, thy Lyres dulcet measure,
So sweetly, so tenderly flows;
That could my sad soul taste of pleasure,
Thy music would soften its woes. 

But ah, gentle soother, where anguish
Takes root in the grief-stricken heart;
Tis the triumph of sorrow to languish,
Tis rapture to cherish the smart. 

The mind where pale Misry sits brooding,
Repels the soft touch of repose;
Shrinks back when blest Reason intruding,
The balm of mild comfort bestows. 

There is luxury oft in declining,
What pitys kind motives impart; 
And to bear hapless fate, unrepining,
Is the proudest delight of the heart. 

Still, still shall thy Lyres gentle measure,
In strains of pure melody flow;
While each heart beats with exquisite pleasure,
SAVE MINEthe doomd VICTIM OF WOE.



Mary Robinson


Mary Robinson's other poems:
  1. The Mistletoe
  2. Sonnet 43. While From the Dizzy Precipice
  3. Sonnet 32. Blest As the Gods
  4. Stanzas to a Friend
  5. The Lascar


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