Page:Poems - Lewis (1812).djvu/27

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POEMS.
11
Quite fool enough the world to showUnvarnished each defect;Just wise enough my faults to know,But not those faults correct;With keen regret on follies pastI dwell, and when my heart at lastWith bitter grief flows o'er,To mark each weakness still awake,What sense is mine, but serves to makeMe feel I should have more.
What though my soul, warm, grateful, kind,Still sighs for social joys;Truth with suspicion taints my mind,And all my bliss destroys.In vain may Love and Friendship tell,Spite of his whims and faults, how wellThey prize the wayward elf:Nor Love nor Friendship seem sincere;For can I be to others dear,Thus hateful to myself?
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