WHAT IS BITTER.
’Tisbitterwhen beneath the midnight moonWe wander near the graves of those we love;The lone heart sinks, and sighs for the bless’d boonOf rest above.When wearied age, with retrospective view,Sees in the record of departed yearsA tale of blighted hopes—he reads it throughWithbittertears.’Tisbitterwhen our days are almost done,To feel for wasted talents vain regret,And see, with guilty fear, our life’s last sunIn sorrow set.’Tisbitterwhen revenge, with hellish art,Lights in the breast her ever-scorching flame,Stirs passion’s depths, and forms the tiger-heart,No power can tame.Andbitteris the heart, nay more, undone,That finds long-cherished hopes in ruin end,Crushed by the cruel treachery of one,It deemeda friend.Eta.
’Tisbitterwhen beneath the midnight moonWe wander near the graves of those we love;The lone heart sinks, and sighs for the bless’d boonOf rest above.When wearied age, with retrospective view,Sees in the record of departed yearsA tale of blighted hopes—he reads it throughWithbittertears.’Tisbitterwhen our days are almost done,To feel for wasted talents vain regret,And see, with guilty fear, our life’s last sunIn sorrow set.’Tisbitterwhen revenge, with hellish art,Lights in the breast her ever-scorching flame,Stirs passion’s depths, and forms the tiger-heart,No power can tame.Andbitteris the heart, nay more, undone,That finds long-cherished hopes in ruin end,Crushed by the cruel treachery of one,It deemeda friend.Eta.
’Tisbitterwhen beneath the midnight moonWe wander near the graves of those we love;The lone heart sinks, and sighs for the bless’d boonOf rest above.
’Tisbitterwhen beneath the midnight moon
We wander near the graves of those we love;
The lone heart sinks, and sighs for the bless’d boon
Of rest above.
When wearied age, with retrospective view,Sees in the record of departed yearsA tale of blighted hopes—he reads it throughWithbittertears.
When wearied age, with retrospective view,
Sees in the record of departed years
A tale of blighted hopes—he reads it through
Withbittertears.
’Tisbitterwhen our days are almost done,To feel for wasted talents vain regret,And see, with guilty fear, our life’s last sunIn sorrow set.
’Tisbitterwhen our days are almost done,
To feel for wasted talents vain regret,
And see, with guilty fear, our life’s last sun
In sorrow set.
’Tisbitterwhen revenge, with hellish art,Lights in the breast her ever-scorching flame,Stirs passion’s depths, and forms the tiger-heart,No power can tame.
’Tisbitterwhen revenge, with hellish art,
Lights in the breast her ever-scorching flame,
Stirs passion’s depths, and forms the tiger-heart,
No power can tame.
Andbitteris the heart, nay more, undone,That finds long-cherished hopes in ruin end,Crushed by the cruel treachery of one,It deemeda friend.
Andbitteris the heart, nay more, undone,
That finds long-cherished hopes in ruin end,
Crushed by the cruel treachery of one,
It deemeda friend.
Eta.
Eta.