Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove; Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.If Apollo
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