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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">o </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"></a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THE partial Muse, has from my earliest hours, <br> Smil'd on the rugged path I'm doom'd to tread, <br>And still with sportive hand has snatch'd wild flowers, <br> To weave fantastic garlands for my head: <br>But far, far happier is the lot of those <br> Who never learn'd her dear delusive art; <br>Which, while it decks the head with many a rose, <br> Reserves the thorn, to fester in the heart. <br>For still she bids soft Pity's melting eye <br> Stream o'er the ills she knows not to remove, <br>Points every pang, and deepens every sigh <br> Of mourning friendship or unhappy love. <br>Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost, <br>If those paint sorrow best--who feel it most! </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"></a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>o</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Charlotte+Smith">Charlotte Smith</a></strong></div>

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