Laura Sophia Temple (Лаура София Темпл)

* * *

What is Pleasure?--'tis a bubble,
    Fill'd with empty froth and wind;
Leading on to care and trouble,
    Leaving many a sting behind.

What is Hope? Ah ! 'tis a Siren,
    Who enamours to destroy;
Cunning wiles her form environ,
    Mischief revels in her eye.

What is Reason?--'tis a taper,
    Passion's gust too oft puts out!
'Tis a thin and wand'ring vapour,
    Blown by storms of Thought about.

What is Fortune? She's a gipsey,
    Who delights in odd mistakes;
Oft I think the Jade is tipsey,
    Such a blundering she makes.

What is Love?--an idle méteor
    Playing round the cheated heart,
Dancing o'er each conscious feature,
    Spreading wide th' amusive smart.

What is Friendship?--'tis a cov'ring,
    Art puts on to safer cheat,
O'er its victim kite-like hov'ring,
    While its looks are soft and sweet.

1. Sonnet 1. To the Evening Gale
2. The Murderer
3. Lines Written on Reading Young's Night Thoughts--
4. Disappointment
5. To the Genius of Romance

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