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[Ah! would to heaven that this dear misery]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


422

[Ah! would to heaven that this dear misery]

Ah! would to heaven that this dear misery,
Which day by day within my heart I nurse,
Shaping the issue of the direful curse,
Against myself, with sad fatality—
This snare of love, which so entangles me,
Might be unknit. For in my dark reverse
Of hopeless passion, I must suffer worse
Than the dull wretch who, ignorant, yet free,
Plods through his daily round of easy cares,
Nor knows the shuddering depths and trembling heights
Of my deep sorrows and supreme delights;
The dizzy summits which my spirit dares,
Winging towards thee, in its audacious flights,
Its gloomy falls to fathomless despairs.