Lift not the painted veil which those who live Call
Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there, And
it but mimic all we would believe With
colours idly spread, – behind, lurk Fear And
Hope, twin Destines; who ever weave Their
shadows, o’er the chasm, sightless and drear. I
knew one who had lifted it – he sought, For
his lost heart was tender, things to love, But
found them not, alas! nor was there aught The
world contains, the which he could approve. Through
the unheeding many he did move, A
splendor among shadows, a bright blot Upon
this gloom scene, a Spirit that strove For
truth, and like the Preacher found it not. 1818. |
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