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O heart of mine! my once sweet paradise Of love and hope! how changed thou art to me! I cannot count thy changes: thou hast lost Interest in the once idols of thy being; They have departed, even as if wings Had borne away their morning; they have left Weariness, turning pleasure into pain, And too sure knowledge of their hollowness.

And that too is gone from me; that which was My solitude's delight! I can no more Make real existence of a shadowy world. Time was, the poet's song, the ancient tale, Were to me fountains of deep happiness, For they grew visible in my lonely hours, As things in which I had a deed and part;