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

A poem by Horace Smith

(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!

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