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Gay with a thousand transitory hues; The rainbow tints are gleaming in thy wings; Thy laughing eyes are blue—not the deep shade Worn by the melancholy violet, But the clear sunny blue of summer skies; And in thy hand a glass, wherein the eye May gaze on many a wonder—all is there That heart can pant for; many a glorious dream Meets the rapt sight, no sooner seen than gone. False as thou art, O most illusive Hope! Reproach is not for thee: what, tho' the flowers Which thou dost scatter o'er our pilgrimage, Are evanescent, yet they are most sweet. Who would not revel in thy witchery, Tho' all too soon the spell will be dissolved! The moments of thy reign are bless'd indeed; They are the purest pleasures life can boast— Reality is sadness.