Life is a waste of wearisome hoursWhich seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns. Irish Melodies (1807)
One of those passing rainbow dreams,Half light, half shade, which fancy's beamsPaint on the fleeting mists that roll,In trance or slumber, round the soul! Lalla Rookh (1817)