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With its colours rich like those Which the bird of India shows.— Once I thought that I would seek Some fair creature, young and meek, Whose most gentle smile would bless My too utter loneliness; But I then remember'd all I had suffer'd from Love's thrall, And I thought I 'd not again Enter in the lion's den; But, with my wrung heart now free, So I thought I still will be. Love is like a kingly dome, Yet too often sorrow's home; Sometimes smiles, but oftener tears, Jealousies, and hopes, and fears,