Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/308

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Is like the opiate which may lull a while, Then wake to double torture; by the days Pass'd in lone watching and in anxious fears, When a breath sent the crimson to my cheek, Like the red gushing of a sudden wound; By all the careless looks and careless words Which have to me been like the scorpion's stinging; By happiness blighted, and by thee, for ever; By thy eternal work of wretchedness; By all my wither'd feelings, ruin'd health, Crush'd hopes, and rifled heart, I will forget thee! Alas! my words are vanity. Forget thee! Thy work of wasting is too surely done. The April shower may pass and be forgotten, The rose fall and one fresh spring in its place, And thus it may be with light summer love.