The Valley of Vain Verses

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The Valley of Vain Verses

The grief that is but feigning,

And weeps melodious tears

Of delicate complaining

From self-indulgent years;

The mirth that is but madness,

And has no inward gladness

Beneath its laughter straining,

To capture thoughtless ears;

The love that is but passion

Of amber-scented lust;

The doubt that is but fashion;

The faith that has no trust;

These Thamyris disperses,

In the Valley of Vain Verses

Below the Mount Parnassian⁠—

And they crumble into dust.