University of Virginia Library


117

To HOPE.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Ah, woe is me! from day to day
I drag a life of pain and sorrow!
Yet still, sweet Hope, I hear thee say,
“Be calm—thine ills will end to-morrow.”
To-morrow comes, but brings to me
No charm, disease or grief relieving!
And am I ever doom'd to see,
Sweet Hope, thy promises deceiving?
Yet, false and cruel as thou art,
Thy dear delusions will I cherish;
I cannot, dare not with thee part,
Since I, alas! with Thee must perish.