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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.