They say that Hope is happiness; But genuine Love must prize the past, And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose the first--they set the last; And all that Memory loves the most Was once our only Hope to be, And all that Hope adored and lost Hath melted into Memory. Alas it is delusion all: The future cheats us from afar, Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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