My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
A kitten both in size and glee,--
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here
But not of love; -- that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above
The best things kept within it.
More verses by William Cowper
- To Sir Joshua Reynolds
- To The Rev. Mr. Newton, On His Return From Ramsgate
- To The Rev. William Cawthorne Unwin
- To The Reverend William Bull
- To The Spanish Admiral Count Gravina
