Thou one continu’d Sigh! all over Pain!
Eternal Wish! but Wish, alas, in vain!
Thou languishing, impatient Hoper on;
A busy Toiler, and yet still undone!
A breaking Glimpse of distant Day,
Inticing on, and leading more astray!
Thou Joy in Prospect, future Bliss extreme;
Never to be possess’d, but in a Dream!
Thou fab’lous Goddess, which the ravisht Boy
In happy Slumbers proudly did enjoy;
But waking, found an airy Cloud he prest;
His Arms came empty to his panting Breast.
Thou Shade, that only haunt’st the Soul by night;
And when thou shouldst inform thou fly’st the Sight:
Thou false Idea of the thinking Brain,
That labours for the charming Form in vain:
Which if by chance it catch, thou’rt lost again.
The Modesty of Iris
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