Where once the finished period smoothly rung,
The inmost foldings of thy heart are seen;
Nor throbs a heart that less demands a screen.
Thy powers, declining, feel the approach of night;
Fast fall the shadows on thy mental sight;
Obscured thy quick perception, once so clear,
Thy judgment, only to thyself severe;
Thy thoughts without selection find their way;
Far from thy purposed meaning words will stray;
Yet in full vigour many a gifted mind,