Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/73

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57

Oh there are those who love the pensive song,To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant!  There are, who at this hour  Will love to contemplate!
For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,Rejoicing when the fading orb of day  Is sunk again in night,  That one day more is gone.
And he who bear's Affliction's heavy loadWith patient piety, well pleas'd he knows  The World a pilgrimage,  The Grave the inn of rest.
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