Miss Flaxman

Oh ’tis a sigh, I know it well
And ev’ry line its name doth tell,
Sure when it springs from joy, ’tis sweet
From grief — its bitterness is great,
And when the heart is charg’d with woe
The sigh may transient ease bestow
A “special pleader,” let no lawyer frown
But rather smile, and all its influence own,
An inmate of the bosom though it dwells
Ne’er issues forth but it some secret tells!
It is a “messenger” may pass a host,
And gets an answer quicker than the post,
’Tis not a “spy,” that’s very clear
And when it goes a volunteer
I rather doubt, ’tis not sincere.
I’ve said enough, Amintor knows the rest
And dedicates his sighs where likes him best!


June 20th