If You Were To Make Little Fishes

The Mind Is Ever Ingenious In Making Its Own Distress.

Vain, Very Vain, My Weary Search To Find That Bliss Which Only Centers In The Mind.

And What Is Friendship But A Name, A Charm That Lulls To Sleep, A Shade That Follows Wealth Or Fame, And Leaves The Wretch To Weep?

Why Was This Heart Of Mine Formed With So Much Sensibility! Or Why Not My Fortune Adapted To Its Impulses! Tenderness Without A Capacity Of Relieving Only Makes The Man Who Feels It More Wretched Than The Object Which Sues For Assistance.

And E'en While Fashion's Brightest Arts Decoy, The Heart Distrusting Asks If This Be Joy.