Normale Version: The Ring
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The Ring

Dear, mystic circlet!.... orbs like thine are found
Within their hallowd empire to enclose
Such unimagin'd joys, such cares and woes,
As still in hearts most sensible abound.
O, since for me bliss animates thy mound
Few be thy cares to her:--and only those
Whence sympathy more sweet and tender flows
And anguish with increas'd delight is crown'd.
Dear circlet!--while with love and awe I gaze
On thy pure gold, of constancy the sign,
Ah, prompt, if once imagination strays,
Recall my wedded thoughts to their blest shrine:
Nor look unkind, nor passion's angry sound,
E'er touch her gentle heart who bears from me thy round!