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The clouds are fearful that o'erhang thy ways, Oh, thou mysterious Heaven!—It cannot be That I have drawn the vials of thy wrath, To burst upon me through the lifting up Of a proud heart, elate in happiness! No! in my day's full noon, for me life's flowers But wreath'd a cup of trembling; and the love, The boundless love, my spirit was form'd to bear, Hath ever, in its place of silence, been A trouble and a shadow, tinging thought With hues too deep for joy!—I never look'd On my fair children, in their buoyant mirth, Or sunny sleep, when all the gentle air Seem'd glowing with their quiet blessedness, But o'er my soul there came a shuddering sense Of earth, and its pale changes; even like that Which vaguely mingles with our glorious dreams,