Читать книгу The Best Letters of Charles Lamb - Charles Lamb - Страница 7

If from my lips some angry accents fell,

Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind,

'T was but the error of a sickly mind

And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well

And waters clear of Reason; and for me

Let this my verse the poor atonement be—

My verse, which thou to praise wert e'er inclined

Too highly, and with partial eye to see

No blemish. Thou to me didst ever show

Kindest affection; and wouldst oft-times lend

An ear to the desponding love-sick lay,

Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay

But ill the mighty debt of love I owe,

Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.

With these lines, and with that sister's kindest remembrances to Cottle,

I conclude.

Yours sincerely,