Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

The heart will break, but broken live on.

Think not I am what I appear.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.