Gems, continued

By-Past Hours
by William B. Tappan

Go, dream of by-past hours;
In retrospect, once more,
Pluck fancy's gayest flowers,
And revel in thy store.
Go, seek thy native cot,
Scene of affection free,
Where pleasure cheered thy lot,
Where love was all to thee.

Do this, but never tell
The heartless world thy dream;
Its scorn would hope dispel,
Would crush the fairy theme.
Do this, but in thy breast
Let each fond wish expire:
For sorrows unrepressed
Are his who loves the lyre.