Sonnet Xxxii Poem by Anna Seward

Behold him now his genuine colours wear,
That specious false-one, by whose cruel wiles
I lost thy amity; saw thy dear smiles
Eclips'd; those smiles, that used my heart to cheer,
Wak'd by the grateful sense of many a year
When rose thy youth, by Friendship's pleasing toils
Cultured; - but Dying! - O! for ever fade
The angry fires. - Each thought, that might upbraid
Thy broken faith, which yet my soul deplores,
Now as eternally is past and gone
As are the interesting, the happy hours,
Days, years, we shared together. They are flown!
Yet long must I lament thy hapless doom,
Thy lavish'd life and early hasten'd tomb.