Chapter VII
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I feel almost at times as I have felt
In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,
Which do remember me of where I dwelt
Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
My heart with recognition of their looks:
And even at moments I could think I see
Some living thing to love--but none like thee.
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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 474, Supplementary NumberChapter VII
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