(Mary Robinson)






Sonnet 37. When, in the Gloomy Mansion


When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead,
This withring heart, this faded form shall sleep;
When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep,
And earths cold lap receive this fevrish head;
Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed,
And Times obliterating pinions sweep
The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep,
To mourn and wander near my freezing bed!
Then, my pale ghost, upon th Elysian shore,
Shall smile, releasd from evry mortal care;
Whil, doomd loves victim to repine no more,
My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there!
Ah! no!my restless shade would still deplore,
Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share.






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