35

The Sensitive Plant.
Conclusion.

Whether the Sensitive Plant, or that
Which within its boughs like a spirit ^sat
Ere its outword from had known decay
Now felt this change I cannot say.

Whether that lady's gentle mind,
No longer with the form combined
Which scattered love, as stars do light
Found sadness, where it left delight

I dare not guess; but in this life
Of error, ignorance and strife,
Where nothing is, but all things seem
And we the shadows of the dream,

It is a modest creed, and yet
Pleasant if one considers it,
To own that death itself must be,
Like all the rest, a mockery.