The dark imagination.
The beaming sun may wake the dewy spring,
The flowers may smile, and the blithe greenwood ring;
Soft music's touch may pour love's sweetest lay,
And young hearts kindle in their hour of May:
But not for Amy shall life's vision glow;
One dark deep thought must on her bosom prey.
Her joys lie buried in the tomb below,
And from night's phantoms pale her deadly bliss
must flow.
And her face ...
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