To
Fancy exalts or joys or woes —
Beware! — she smil'd when thou wert born —
If with new bloom she paints the rose,
With what new pangs she barbs the thorn!
The child of fancy finds too soon
No twilight calms his varying sky;
All is extreme, each ray is noon ,
Each cloud is midnight to his eye!
Beware! — she smil'd when thou wert born —
If with new bloom she paints the rose,
With what new pangs she barbs the thorn!
The child of fancy finds too soon
No twilight calms his varying sky;
All is extreme, each ray is noon ,
Each cloud is midnight to his eye!
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