The godlike images that seem'd so fair!
Silent the playful Muse—the rosy Hours
Halt in their dance; and the May-breathing flowers
Pall from the sister-Graces' waving hair.
Sweet-mouth'd Apollo breaks his golden lyre,
Hermes, the wand with many a marvel rife;—
The veil, rose-woven by the young Desire
With dreams, drops from the hueless cheeks of Life.
The world seems what it is—A Grave! and Love
Casts down the bondage wound his eyes above,