GRIEF.
Grief is our natural state, and joy but comes
Like gleams of sunshine in a wint’ry day,
Showing the darkness of the low’ring clouds
That threaten to obscure its waning lustre.
Grief shares our pillow, colours even our dreams,
Awakens when we wake, and through the day
Sits by us, calling Mem’ry to her aid,
That she, by whisp’ring of the happy past,
May make the gloomy present still more dark.