Explore "Parnassus[15]; a Vision" by Edward Bulwer-lytton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
_Written at Fourteen Years and a Half._
Loves not thy soul, when sated with the crowd, And all the trifles of the great and proud; -- Loves not thy soul, its wearied pow'rs to bless, With the rich charms of pensive loneliness? -- To turn thine eye, in mem'ry's fond survey, To scenes and pleasures faded long away; Till they fall on thee, like spring's grateful rain, And, in idea, thou liv'st them o'er again? Or, if bright Hope extends her magic wand, To the dark future's cloud-encircled land; Dost thou not feel a secret wish to view Th' entangled vale, thou hast to wander through? While Fancy loves to deck the scene with flow'rs, Gather'd from Glory's fields, or Pleasure's roseate bow'rs; Till, perhaps, some passing peasant's laughter's roll, Breaks the soft spell that binds thy wand'ring soul.