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Of praise, and yet my cheek was flushing, My heart with the full torrent gushing Of feelings whose delighted mood Was mingling joy and gratitude. Scarce possible it seem'd to be That such praise could be meant for me.— Enured to coldness and neglect, My spirit chill'd, my breathing check'd, All that can crowd and crush the mind, Friends even more than fate unkind, And fortunes stamp'd with the pale sign That marks and makes autumn's decline. How could I stand in the sunshine, And marvel not that it was mine? One word, if ever happiness In its most passionate excess