Poems (Louisa Blake)/Sensibility

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SENSIBLLIY
I envy not the frozen heart Which cannot feel another's wo,For the cold calculating soul The purest bliss can never know.
I envy not the stoic's boast, That he his feelings can enchain,For truly they enjoy the most, Who feel extremes of bliss and pain.
I envy not the harden'd mind That never felt a load of care,Nor yet the ever tearless eye Which shows no fount of feeling there:—
But to the feeling heart and mind Each sorrow brings with it relief]For in the midst of agony, There is a joy, "the joy of grief."
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