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36
To throw the seeds of pleasure to the wind.
What can I look upon but vivid dreams,
That sprang like flowers, and like flowers perish'd,
Leaving no trace, save a few whither'd leaves
Trodden to earth, and mouldering round the stem.
Alas! each sunny vision I have known,
Has pass'd away like to an infant's smile—
Bathed the next moment in the bitterest tears.
And shall I raise my hall of joy again,
My fairy dwelling, on th' unstable sand?
With tremulous hand, I scarce dare wake the strings;
They too may tell the vanity of hope.
II.
Morn came in joy, and eve in tenderness;
Still Adelaide was lonely in her bower,
