So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

Blushed like the waves of hell.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.