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To_ _ _ _ _ Dost thou think because I smile, When wit and mirth surround me There is no torturing thought the while, That with its secret power can wound me? Ah! know then, I have schooled my heart, To stifle every wayward feeling, And dearly have I bought the art, Not that of conquering but concealing. Yet, when I see the joyous smile In other's eyes so brightly beaming, I feel a transient joy the while, Tis real then, it is not seeming. But memory, with her thousand things, Turns [["x" over this word indicating a correction]] every present joy to sorrow; And sad anticipation brings, Thoughts which from hope no solace borrow. A Wish O could I find a kindred heart, Whose feeling's would respond to mine, Would bear in all my joys a part, And in my griefs as freely join. That kindred heart how would I love! And guard it with a miser's care; And that I ne'er its loss might prove, Would be my first, my fondest prayer.