Poem by Anna Laetitia Barbauld

To Mrs. Marissal

Whither, whither, wearied dove,
Wilt thou fly to seek thy rest?
Beat with many a heavy storm,
Where repose thy tender breast?
Hither, hither, gentle dove,
Bend thy flight and build thy home;
Here repose thy tender breast,
Fix thy foot, and never roam.
Welcome, welcome, soft-eyed dove,
To the sheltering low-roofed cot,
Leave the splendid city's throng,
Meekly kiss thy quiet lot.

Low-roofed cots and whispering groves
Suit thy pensive sweetness best;
Health shall bloom, and Peace shall smile
Round thy small but downy nest.
Try thy thrilling notes once more,
Plume again thy ruffled wing;
With thy sister turtles coo,
Drink at Pleasure's native spring.

1. To Dr. A.
2. On the Death of Mrs. Martineau, Senr.
3. What Do the Futures Speak of?
4. The Death of Virtuous
5. Peace and Shepherd

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