Say, Worsdcal, where you learn'd the Art
To paint the Goodness of the Heart
The flatt'ring Teint let others prize;
You call the Soul into the Eyes:
There we the various Virtues trace
Of Churchil's, and Godolphin's Race.
Thrice happy Pelham, to whose Arms
Were destin'd never--fading Charms!
On The Dutchess Of Newcastle's Picture.
Mary Barber
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Poem topics: happy, heart, never, soul, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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