Lucile | ||
VII.
Ah, that yet! fatal word! 'tis the moral of allThought and felt, seen or done, in this world since the Fall!
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It flits in the vista of all we discern;
It leads us, for ever and ever, away
To find in to-morrow what flies with to-day.
'Twas this same little fatal and mystical word
That now, like a miràge, led my lady and lord
To the waters of Ems from the waters of Marah;
Drooping pilgrims in Fashion's blank, arid Sahara!
Lucile | ||