To Lady Charles Beauclerk

No, Teresita, never say
That uncle Landor's worthless lay
Shall find its place among your treasures.
Altho' his heart is not grown old,
Yet are his verses far too cold
For bridal bowers or festive measures.
He knows you lovely, thinks you wise,
And still shall think so if your eyes
Seek not in noisier paths to roam;
But rest upon your forest-green,
And find that life runs best between
A tender love and tranquil home.