sonnet14 lines

To The Rev. A. A. In The Country From His Friend In London.

(AFTER HEINE.)

Thou little village curate,

Come quick, and do not wait;

We'll sit and talk together,

So sweetly tete-a-tete.

Oh do not fear the railway

Because it seems so big--

Dost thou not daily trust thee

Unto thy little gig.

This house is full of painters,

And half shut up and black;

But rooms the very snuggest

Lie hidden at the back.

Come! come! come!