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The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay,
Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright.
Virtue, how frail it is !
Friendship too rare ! Love, how it sells
bliss For proud despair ! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy and all Which ours we call.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day, Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou—and from thy sleep Then wake to weep.
Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm-thus wert not thou. My baffled looks did fear * yet dread
To meet thy looks—I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine.
To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage
Of fettered grief that dares not groan, Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony;
Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,
] thou alone should be, – To spend years thus, and be rewarded,
As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near—0! I did wake From torture for that moment's sake.
Upon my heart thy accents sweet
Of peace and pity fell like dew On flowers half dead ;--thy lips did meet
Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.
* Read yearn?
Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate ;
Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thee and me.
Gentle and good and mild thou art,
Nor can I live if thee appear Auglit but thyself, or turn thine heart
Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be To hide the love thou feelst for me.
Vultures, who build your bowers
Withered hopes on hopes are spread ;
Many a day.
RARELY, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day "Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Even the sighs of grief
Let ine set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure :
Thou wilt come for pleasure ;
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
And the starry night ;
I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
Every thing almost
be Untainted by man's misery;
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
Between thee and me
I love Love-though he has wings,
And like light can flee,