[19] 

[19]

Am I so blurr'd in soul, so out of health,

A

A

A

That I must turn to thee, as if by stealth,

And fear thy censure, fear thy quick rebuff,

And thou so gentle in a world so rough

That God's high priest, the morn-apparell'd sun

Ne'er saw thy like! Am I indeed undone

Of life and love and all? and must I weep

For joys that quit me, and for sands that run?

xvii.

To-morrow's dawn will break; but Yesterday,

T

T

T

Where is its light? And where the breezes' play

That sway'd the flowers? A bird will sing again,

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