Normale Version: Radcliffe, Ann: To the Visions of Fancy
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Dear, wild illusions of creative mind!
Whose varying hues arise to Fancy's art,
And by her magic force are swift combined
In forms that please, and scenes that touch the heart:

Oh! whether at her voice ye soft assume
The pensive grace of sorrow drooping low;
Or rise sublime on terror's lofty plume,
And shake the soul with wildly thrilling woe;

Or, sweetly bright, your gayer tints ye spread, -
Bid scenes of pleasuse steal upon my view,
Love wave his purple pinions o'er my head,

And wake the tender thought to passion true;
O! still - ye shadowy forms! attend my lonely hours,
Still chase my real cares with your illusive powers!