Sonnet. An Imitation

AN IMITATION.

Why thus obtrusive check my transport? Why
Stop the quick ardour of my glowing soul?
Oh! I am buoyant borne with Pleasure's bowl,
And, cloath'd in purple, laughing Revelry
Waits on me: Mirth, with all her jocund train,
That erst lay dormant, as the opening morn
First gleams, now dazzles. The dread hour forlorn
Of melancholy hence! O! join the strain,
And fill the joyous choir, let sweetest notes
Of love inspiring song soar to the skies.
Brisk Gaiety the haunts of Horror flies,
And ever on the wings of Fancy floats.
Begone, dull soul, pale Misery's bitters quaff,
Plunge deep in sorrow — but leave me to laugh .
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