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Of waking misery.
And I did call the vision back,
But, ah! 'twas fled like April's rack.
And I did call the vision back,
But, ah! 'twas fled like April's rack.
I saw, in place of love and truth,
And hope's aërial bow,
And the gay joys of early youth,
And friendship's plighted vow,
And forms which once bloom'd fresh and fair,
The dark brow'd phantoms of despair;
And hope's aërial bow,
And the gay joys of early youth,
And friendship's plighted vow,
And forms which once bloom'd fresh and fair,
The dark brow'd phantoms of despair;
And found, instead of pleasure's wreath,
And fancy's path of flowers,
Nought but the thorns that lurk'd beneath,
And felt their wounding powers:
In vain I strove again to dream,
And drink of sleep's Lethean stream.
And fancy's path of flowers,
Nought but the thorns that lurk'd beneath,
And felt their wounding powers:
In vain I strove again to dream,
And drink of sleep's Lethean stream.
