Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/16

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(For these are as the waves that turn to stone, Till feelings keep their outward show alone)— When wearied by the vain, chill'd by the cold, Impatient of society's set mould— The many meannesses, the petty cares, The long avoidance of a thousand snares, The lip that must be chain'd, the eye so taught To image all but its own actual thought;— (Deceit is this world's passport: who would dare, However pure the breast, to lay it bare?)— When worn, my nature struggling with my fate, Checking my love, but, oh, still more my hate;— (Why should I love? flinging down pearl and gem To those who scorn, at least care not for them: Why should I hate? as blades in scabbards melt, I have no power to make my hatred felt;