Page:Heath's Book of Beauty 1833.pdf/6

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Yet, far worse misery to know Our faith no veiled thing: Methinks that we can bear the pain, If we can hide the sting. But, out upon consoling friends! The anguish one may brook; But not officious sympathy— The soothing word or look. Pity from all the common herd, Whom most we must despise— Perish the sigh upon the lips, The tear within the eyes! Alas! what depths of wretchedness The human soul can know! How bitterly the waters taste, Which seem in light to flow! For love and hope, those leaves which give Their sweetness to the wave, Flung with no blessing, lose their charm, And find the stream their grave! Ah! even as at coming night The careful flowers close— So should our heart call in its hopes, And on itself repose. But let it not be lull'd by dreams, That weep whene'er they wake— For every heart that lives by love, A thousand beat and break!