Sonnet.—imitated

Fables and dreams I feign; yet though but verse The dreams and fables, I adorn and call; Fool that I am!—I grieve as I rehearse; And GENUINE TEARS, for FANCIED SORROWS fall. Perhaps the dear delusion of my art Is wisdom; and the agitated mind, As still responding to each plaintive part, With love and scorn, a tranquil hour can find. Ah! not alone the tender RHIMES I give, Are fictions; but my FEARS and HOPES I deem Are FABLES all—deliriously I live— And life's whole course is one protracted dream. Eternal power! when shall I wake to rest This wearied brain on TRUTH'S immortal breast?