Doom is the House without the Door —
'Tis entered from the Sun —
And then the Ladder's thrown away,
Because Escape — is done —
'Tis varied by the Dream
Of what they do outside —
Where Squirrels play — and Berries die —
And Hemlocks — bow — to God —
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CUPID CALLED TO ACCOUNT.
LAST night, as my unwilling mind
To rest, dear Celia, I resign'd;
For how should I repose enjoy,
While any fears your breast annoy?
Forbid it, heav'n, that I should be
From any of your troubles free.
O! would kind Fate attend my pray'r,
...