Ah! this interminable stress of life
Intruding on the splendid pageantry,
Wherein is decked the gaudy press of dreams,
That flatter love, as if another sense,
Imagination, showed us the true world.
I am but half a dreamer, and can shut
My purpose close unto the narrow view,
To seize the nearest opportunity,
Weaving it into this strange web of life,
As now I make the fate of Merow mine.