And not of earth it seems, but from above
It comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.
That thought is vain as love's own happiness,
For soon love's sweet illusion is no more;
Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss—
And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er,
We wake, to life, far sadder than before.
It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleam
Of flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore,
Making the wilderness more dreary seem—