_The Triad._


O Lady bright,
Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined
By favouring Nature, and a saintly mind,
To something purer and more exquisite
Than flesh and blood!

_Sonnet._


A maid whom there wore none to praise
And very few to love;
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.

_Poems of the Affections, 8._


Whether in the semblance drest
Of Dawn, or Eve, fair vision of the west,
Come with each anxious hope subdued,
By woman's gentle fortitude,
Each grief, through weakness, settling into rest.