LONDON: PRINTED BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS. MDCCCXLI. Love is not blind, but I alone, who steer My wishes headlong unto death: Love is no child, but I; who in a breath Laugh and lament, and hope and fear: What folly then to speak of “flames of Love!” Love’s fire from untamed passion springs, High and presumptuous thoughts are Cupid’s wings, Or hopes as vain on which he soars above. Love has no chains, Love bears no bow To take, or strike the sound, and free: No power has he save that which we bestow; A poet’s fiction gave him birth, The dream of fools, adored on earth By none except th…
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