Reproach me not, beloved shade!
Nor think thy memory less I prize;
The smiles that o'er my features play'd,
But hid my pangs from vulgar eyes.
I acted like the worldling boy,
With heart to every feeling vain:
I smil'd with all, yet felt no joy;
I wept with all, yet felt no pain,
No—though, to veil thoughts of gloom,
I seem'd to twine Joy's rosy wreath,