A REVERIE.
Oh! the deep loneliness of heart and soul,
When feeling is crushed back upon itself,
And thought is shadowless: there is no fate
In the vast chronicle of human woe
That tells a tale of suffering more than #his.
Death, in itself a sad and solemn thing,
That wrings all hearts within its pale of woe,
May find relief in sympathy sincere;
For all have felt its soul-dividing power,
Crushing the fond affections of the heart,
And leaving earth a desolation vast,
Where neither hope, nor joy, nor gladness come.
Yet sympathy is there—we may forget,
Or time may shadow o'er the deep regret.
The withering breath of poverty may blast
The buoyant spirit of resisting man;
And hopes and fears, that trembled o'er the rich
When feeling is crushed back upon itself,
And thought is shadowless: there is no fate
In the vast chronicle of human woe
That tells a tale of suffering more than #his.
Death, in itself a sad and solemn thing,
That wrings all hearts within its pale of woe,
May find relief in sympathy sincere;
For all have felt its soul-dividing power,
Crushing the fond affections of the heart,
And leaving earth a desolation vast,
Where neither hope, nor joy, nor gladness come.
Yet sympathy is there—we may forget,
Or time may shadow o'er the deep regret.
The withering breath of poverty may blast
The buoyant spirit of resisting man;
And hopes and fears, that trembled o'er the rich
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