O gracious Lethe ~ Innocent sincere!
Beauteous child who knows near naught at all;
those specters, save, that dim and chill appear
from out your looking-glass to then appall!
In lonesome thought you conjure a milieu:
of faces, bright as morning with the sun
alighting on the newly forméd dew!
To burn its each and ev'ry clinging tongue,
and leave but extant, shadow'd dregs fear-fraught
with Melancholy hung in awful bane!
The Crystal shatters! ~ Verily unsought
is righteous purity: No, No more Pain!
But humour born of laughing, careless ...