XLIII

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XLIII

But pause! Thou calm retreats, farewell,

Where my days in the wilderness

Of languor and of love did tell

And contemplative dreaminess;

And thou, youth’s early inspiration,

Invigorate imagination

And spur my spirit’s torpid mood!

Fly frequent to my solitude,

Let not the poet’s spirit freeze,

Grow harsh and cruel, dead and dry,

Eventually petrify

In the world’s mortal revelries,

Amid the soulless sons of pride

And glittering simpletons beside;