Page:Ethel Churchill Fragments II.pdf/26



These are the things that fret away the heart— Cold, careless trifles; but not felt the less For mingling with the hourly acts of life. It is a cruel lot for the fine mind, Full of emotions generous and true, To feel its light flung back upon itself; All its warm impulses repelled and chilled, Until it finds a refuge in disdain! And woman, to whom sympathy is life, The only atmosphere in which her soul Developes all it has of good and true; How must she feel the chill!