To Mrs. I. Woodgate, My Niece

  New in the date is Fanny's year,
No other novelties appear:
Bright as the current's mirrour flows,
Bliss at the heart familiar grows.
On her belov'd the new-born sun
Has a new birth of taste begun:
A thousand charms unheeded flew,
A thousand more to-day are new.
He thought he could not love her more ,
When his proud lips their tribute swore;
But in the charm of Time's delay
His minute is a New-year's day.
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