Sonnet: O Poverty! Though From Thy Haggard Eye
O, Poverty! though from thy haggard eye,
Thy cheerless mien, of every charm bereft,
Thy brow that Hope's last traces long have left,
Vain Fortune's feeble sons with terror fly;
I love thy solitary haunts to seek.
For Pity, reckless of her own distress;
And Patience, in her pall of wretchedness,
That turns to the bleak storm her faded cheek;
And Piety, that never told her wrong;
And meek Content, whose griefs no more rebel;
And Genius, warbling sweet her saddest song;
And Sorrow, listening to a lost friend's knell,
Long banished from the world's insulting throng;
With thee, and thy unfriended offspring, dwell.
Ix. O Poverty! Though From Thy Haggard Eye...
O POVERTY! though from thy haggard eye,
Thy cheerless mein, of every charm bereft,
Thy brow, that hope's last traces long have left,
Vain Fortune's feeble sons with terror fly;
Thy rugged paths with pleasure I attend; -
For Fancy, that with fairest dreams can bless;
And Patience, in the Pall of Wretchedness,
Sad-smiling, as the ruthless storms descend;
And Piety, forgiving every wrong,
And meek Content, whose griefs no more rebel;
And Genius, warbling sweet her saddest song;
And Pity, list'ning to the poor man's knell,
Long banish'd from the world's insulting throng;
With Thee, and loveliest Melancholy, dwell.
