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Poems (Taggart)/Distress

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4563147Poems — DistressCynthia Taggart
DISTRESS.
There flows from Misery's melancholy penNo metre, measure, nor consistent prose;But truth unpolished, misery unfeigned,Griefs, that a marble heart would melt to hear,—Would wreck the strongest intellect of man,With nights of anguish,—struggling strifes unknown.Sought, but not found, oblivion might allayThe maddening tumult. Peace beheld afarIn the worn meditation, like a foeInexorable, mocks the suppliant's prayer;Nor could the world united rest bestow.Alas! world, friends, nor kindred,—griefs severe,Remediless, unpopular and long,Have power, nor scarcely will, to mitigate:—For pity vanishes, unless reliefApproximating prove the smile may soonSupply the place of sympathetic care,And ease affection of external pain.For anxious, mourning, deep regret may wellBefit a human heart at intervals;But joy must thrill between, and woe must changeIts name and its appearance, varying oft;And hope must smile to keep regret alive,And bear compassion through her toilsome task.Then, then, what anguish must the wretched bear, When friends,—whom health and social converse bless,To whom sweet sleep returns at wonted hours,Their minds releases from all active thought,Soothes and supports with her nutritious balm,And vigorous leaves to cheerful life anew,—Find it too painful to lament their woe,To pause and meditate their sad reverse,The dying anguish of their nightly hours;When tortures fierce, instead of balmy rest,Run riot wild within their wasted forms,And thought, combined with pain's exhausting powerResistless pressing every care-worn nerve,Excites the system to unknown excess,And racks with more than mortal agony.