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162 
INNOCENCE. 
Whole summer fields are thine by right, 
And autumn, melancholy wight ! 
Doth in thy crimson head delight, 
When rains are on thee. 
In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
Thou greetest the traveller in the lane ; 
If welcomed once thou comest again ; 
Thou art not daunted; 
Nor carest if thou be set at nought ; 
And oft alone, in nooks remote 
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, 
When such are wanted. 
The violets in their secret mews, 
The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose ; 
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 
Her head impearling ; 
Thou livest with less ambitious name, 
Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; 
Thou art, indeed, by many a claim, 
The poet’s darling. 
If to a rock from rains he fly, 
Or, some bright day of April’s sky, 
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie 
Near the green holly ; 
And wearily at length should fare ; 
He need but look about, and there 
Thou art !—a friend at hand, to scare 
His melancholy. 
