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Rh A Poet’s daughter? Could I claim The consanguinity of fame, Veins of my intellectual frame!
 * Your blood would glow

Proudly to sing that gentlest name
 * Of aught below.

A Poet’s daughter—dearer word Lip hath not spoken nor listener heard, Fit theme for song of bee and bird
 * From morn till even,

And wind-harp by the breathing stirred
 * Of starlit heaven.

My spirit’s wings are weak, the fire Poetic comes but to expire, Her name needs not my humble lyre
 * To bid it live;

She hath already from her sire
 * All bard can give.