Start not, nor tremble at the Sight of this; <br />It comes not written from the Realms of Bliss: <br />'Tis true, you see, your once--lov'd Roydon's Hand; <br />Thence may conclude from Heav'n some high Command; <br />Conscious perhaps of your celestial Frame, <br />You think you're call'd to Worlds from whence you came. <br />Not so--but ere her Soul began its Flight, <br />She thought of you, and staid a--while to write; <br />Kindly for me her dying Suit address'd: <br />Then view it, Madam, as her last Request.<br /><br />Mary Barber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-right-honourable-the-lady-kilmorey/
