Mutation

They talk of short-lived pleasure - be it so - Pain dies as quickly; stern, hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace. Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, Makes the strong secret pangs of pain to cease:

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase Are fruits of innocence and blessedness; Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round him press. Weep not that the world changes - did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.