Contents Sir Eustace Grey The Hall of Justice Woman The Birth of Flattery Reflections I'll know no more;--the heart is torn By views of woe we cannot heal; Long shall I see these things forlorn, And oft again their griefs shall feel, As each upon the mind shall steal; That wan projector's mystic style, That lumpish idiot leering by, That peevish idler's ceaseless wile, And that poor maiden's half-form'd smile, While struggling for the full-drawn sigh! - I'll know no more.…
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