Fond Hope

What rapture would the Muse again inspire, What dear delusive hope, what fond desire? Would she describe the chearful beams of morn, Or sadder sweets that ev'ning scenes adorn? Would she the charms of sacred beauty sing, Or ecstasies that heav'nly knowledge bring? What are the joys which nature yields or art, Unless those joys we freely might impart? But, O sad thought! a heart supremely kind Seems but a vision of the love-sick mind, The longing of a soul whose hopes pursue A counter-part that still eludes her view: So rare is truth, affection's taste so rare, And bent on vanity, most worldly care!