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'Mid coming clouds; or how thy thoughts will fear
To catch from the remembrance of the past,
A faint reflection of thy former bliss!
Thine eye is looking now to future hours,
Where hope has traced for thee a fairy land;
Pass but a little while, and thou wilt shrink
From the cold visions of futurity,
Which thou, alas! hast learnt to know too well;
And turn to that dear time, ere sadness threw
Its shadow o'er thy prospect; when thy soul
Shed over all its own romantic light;
Ere falsehood, disappointment, grief, and wrong,
Wither'd the feelings of thy opening youth—
Leaving thee, like the bud the worm hath scath'd,
Bloom on its cheek—the canker in its heart.
