O MEMORY, thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain:
Thou, like the world, th' oppress'd oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe:
And he who wants each other blessing
In thee must ever find a foe.
More verses by Oliver Goldsmith
- An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog
- The Taking Of Quebec
- Threnodia Augustalis: Overture - Pastorale
- To G. C. And R. L.
- Threnodia Augustalis: Overture - A Solemn Dirge