VII

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VII

Wherefore? She found a secret joy

In horror for itself alone,

Thus Nature doth our souls alloy,

Thus her perversity hath shown.

Twelfth Night approaches. Merry eves!

When thoughtless youth whom nothing grieves,

Before whose inexperienced sight

Life lies extended, vast and bright,

To peer into the future tries.

Old age through spectacles too peers,

Although the destined coffin nears,

Having lost all in life we prize.

It matters not. Hope e’en to these

With childlike lisp will lie to please.