“A Sonnet: by Miss Hays,” The Universal Magazine 77 (1785), 329.
Ah let not Hope fallacious, airy, wild, Illusive rays amid the tempest blend; No more my soul with varied feeling’s rend, Soft Sensibility – Refinement’s child.
May Apathy her wand oblivious spread, Steep’d in Lethean waves with poppys twin’d, And gently bending o’er my languid head To long repose, beguile a wayward mind.
While keen Reflection throbs in every vein, Thy aid, Oblivion, vainly I implore; This heart shall tremble with the sense of pain, Till Death’s cold hand a lasting peace restore. Ah, say, can Reason’s feebler power controul The finer movements of the feeling soul?
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