Poem of the Week: Ode to Pity by Jane Austen

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Ever musing I delight to tread
The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove
Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed
On disappointed Love.
While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush
Sings sweet and Melancholy, And the thrush
Converses with the Dove. Continue reading “Poem of the Week: Ode to Pity by Jane Austen”