Joy cannot claim a purer bliss,
Nor grief a dew from stain more clear,
Than female friendship’s meeting kiss,
Than female friendship’s parting tear.
How sweet the heart’s full bliss to pour
To her, whose smile must crown the store!
How sweeter still to tell of woes
To her, whose faithful breast would share
In every grief, in every care,
Whose sigh can lull them to repose!
Oh! blessed sigh! there is no sorrow,
But from thy breath can sweetness borrow;
E’en to the pale and drooping flower
That fades in love’s neglected hour;
E’en with her woes can friendship’s pow’r
One happier feeling blend:
’Tis from her restless bed to creep,
And sink like wearied babe to sleep,
On the soft couch her sorrows steep,
The bosom of a friend.
_Miss Mitford._
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