IV. Since my young days of passion--joy, or pain, Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, And both may jar: it may be, that in vain I would essay as I have sung to sing. Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, So that it wean me from the weary dream Of selfish grief or gladness--so it fling Forgetfulness around me--it shall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.
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