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! thou sweet but sorrowful delusion—

Thou golden cup with treacheries o'erflowing:

Thou twixt two hearts—with tendrils strong up-growing

Dost bind them—'till they melt in common fusion.

Earth and heaven's blessedness seems theirs—enjoy

The fleeting moment, for the storm is waking—

It blackens—bursts—and heaven and earth are shaking:

That storm the boat and boatman may destroy.

Daughter of heaven; where art thou? Thou sweet guest,

Whom I have often welcom'd to my breast:

Thou child of flowers—thou fountain-head of care!

I launch'd my bark for thy bright pork—but heaven

Frown'd;—with a broken rose-stem was I driven

Upon the rocks—nought but briars were there.