Gents Mag 1823 part 2 p.487

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	Gentleman's Magazine 1823 part 2 p.487 The stream that murmurs on its bed, All aid the melancholy hour. Added to this, - the wasting frame, Thro' which life's pulses slowly beat, Would fain persuade that naught's the same As when health glow'd with genial heat. Where are the spirits light as air, That self-amus'd would carrol loud, Would find out pleasure everywhere, And all her paths with garlands strew'd? Nature's the same,- the Spring returns, The leaf again adorns the tree,- How tasteless this to her who mourns, Or she who droops and fades like me! No emblem for myself I find, Save what some dying plant bestows, Save when its drooping head I bind, And mark how strong the likeness grows. No more sweet Eve, with drops distill'd, Shall melt o'er thee in tender grief, Nor bid Aurora's cup be fill'd With balmy dew from yonder leaf. What tho' some seasons more had roll'd Their golden suns beneath thine eye? Yet, as the flower of mortal mould, 'Twas still thy lot to bloom and die.' Yours, &c. OMICRON.
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