Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/25

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While the heart too fond, too weak, Lies open for the vulture's beak? Alas! for him possess'd of all That wins and keeps a world in thrall, Of all that makes the soul aspire, Yet vow'd to a neglected lyre; Who finds, the first, a golden mine, Sees the veins yield, the treasures shine, Gazes until his eye grows dim, Then learns that it is not for him; One who, albeit his wayward mood Pines for and clings to solitude, Has too much humanness of heart To dwell from all his kind apart; But seeks communion for the dreams With which his vision'd spirit teems;