As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds, <br />Still on that vision which is flown I dwell, <br />On images I loved, alas, too well! <br />Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds <br />Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep <br />Such recollections, painful though they seem, <br />And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream <br />I start, and find them not; then I could weep <br />To think how Fortune blights the fairest flowers; <br />To think how soon life's first endearments fail, <br />And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale, <br />Who, like a flatterer, when the happiest hours <br />Pass, and when most we call on her to stay, <br />Will fly, as faithless and as fleet as they!<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/associations-4/
