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HAWTHORNE, Nathaniel

Oh could I raise the darken’d veil,

Oh could I raise the darken’d veil,

Which hides my future life from me,

Could unborn ages slowly sail,

Before my view—and could I see

My every action painted there,

To cast one look I would not dare.

There poverty and grief might stand,

And dark Despair’s corroding hand,

Would make me seek the lonely tomb

To slumber in its endless gloom.

Then let me never cast a look,

Within Fate’s fix’d mysterious book.

Earthly pomp

Oh, earthly pomp is but a dream,

And like a meteor's short-lived gleam;

And all the sons of glory soon

Will rest beneath the mould'ring stone.

And Genius is a star whose light

Is soon to sink in endless night,

And heavenly beauty's angel form

Will bend like flower in winter's storm.