With me, alas! Those joys are o'er;
For me the vernal garlands bloom no more.
Adieu! Fond hope of mutual fire,
The still-believing, still-renew'd desire;
Adieu! The heart-expanding bowl,
And all the kind deceivers of the soul!
But why? Ah tell me, ah too dear!
Steals down my cheek the involuntary tear?
Why words so flowing, thoughts so free,
Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee?
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