Iv

Yes; I know what I am. Have outlasted my season Of pleasure and folly.--You think it is strange That I let you, say--love me? But why not?--my reason Requires illusions. They give me that change Which quiets remembrance. You kiss me--I wonder.-- When you say, "You are beautiful,"--well, am I glad If I laugh?--You declaim on my form, "How no blunder Of nature discords,"--If I sigh, am I sad?