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- Blest is the mind that, fix'd and free,
To wanton pleasures scorns to yield,
And wards, as with a pliant shield,
The arrows of adversity. (en)
- But what is in my heart
Wells up towards my lips; the inward pressure grows:
Fermenting like new wine, it bursts and overflows. (en)
- Whose floor is trod, whose threshold is worn down
By Painters, Artists, Singers, and Poets of renown. (en)
- Infant fairest - beauty rarest -
Who repairest from above;
Whose sweet smiling, woe-beguiling,
Lights us with a heavenly love.
Mother! mourn not - I return not -
Wherefore learn not to be blest?
Heaven's my home now, where I roam now -
I an angel, and at rest.
Why distress thee? Still I'll bless thee -
Still caress thee, though I'm fled;
Cheer life's dullness - pour heaven's fullness
Of bright glory on thy head.
Leave behind thee thoughts that bind thee -
Dreams that blind thee in their glare:
Look before thee, round thee, o’er thee -
Heaven invites thee - I am there! (en)
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