Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1826.pdf/26

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count the changes of my heart, So often has it turned away from things Once idols of its being:—they depart— Hopes, fancies, joys, illusions—as if wings Were given from their former selves to start: Or if they linger, longer life but brings Weariness, canker, hollowness. and stain, Till the heart says of pleasure, it is pain.

And thus it is with all that made life fair:— Gone with the freshness which they used to wear, ‘Tis sad to mark the ravage which the heart Makes of itself,—how one by one depart The colours that formed hope. We seek—we find— And find the charm has with the search declined. Affections—pleasures—all in which we trust,— What do they end in?—Nothing, or disgust.