Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

We frolic while 'tis May.

Thought would destroy their paradise.

Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.