To Mrs. Catherine P — , Jan. 1, 1810

To a Poetic Spirit's ear
I never hail the new-born year;
For in Parnassus , we are told,
The Ladies never can be old.
You 'll tell me that you cannot sleep,
And that your eyes their vigils keep;
But in your Fancy's waking dreams
Are tuneful groves and purling streams;
The form of Lovibond appears,
And Woodson pelts you with his tears;
The venerable Handel chides
Your censure of the visual guides ;
And blessings from the lips you fed
Are the Physicians of your bed.
Your Village Minstrel can impart
The musick of his grateful heart;
Nor does it make your bargain worse
That a lov'd Sister is your nurse.
You are no stern Petruchio's Kate ,
For Cynthia's brother is your mate;
Nor all the Russias ever knew
A Catharine so lov'd as you ;
Though teens are past, you 're still a belle ,
And your true name is " Kitty Fell . "
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