Who would himself with shadows
entertain,
Or gild his life with lights that
shine in vain,
Or nurse false hopes that do but
cheat the true?-
Though with my dream my heaven should
be resigned-
Though the free-pinioned soul that
once could dwell
In the large empire of the possible,
This workday life with iron chains
may bind,
Yet thus the mastery oer
ourselves we find,
And solemn duty to our acts decreed,
Meets us thus tutored in the hour
of need,
With a more sober and submissive
mind!
How front necessity-yet
bid thy youth
Shun the mild rule of lifes
calm sovereign, truth.
So speakest thou, friend, how stronger
far than I;
As from experience-that
sure port serene-
Thou lookest;-and straight,
a coldness wraps the sky,
The summer glory withers from the
scene,
Scared by the solemn spell; behold
them fly,
The godlike images that seemed so
fair!
Silent the playful Muse-the
rosy hours
Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing
flowers
Fall from the sister-graces
waving hair.
Sweet-mouthed Apollo breaks his
golden lyre,
Hermes, the wand with many a marvel
rife;-
The veil, rose-woven, by the young
desire
With dreams, drops from the hueless
cheeks of life.
The world seems what it is-a
grave! and love
Casts down the bondage wound his
eyes above,
And sees!-He sees but
images of clay
Where he dreamed gods; and sighs-and
glides away.
The youngness of the beautiful grows
old,
And on thy lips the brides
sweet kiss seems cold;
And in the crowd of joys-upon
thy throne
Thou sittest in state, and hardenest
into stone.
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