On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
Turn, hopeless thought! turn from her:—thought repell’d
Resenting rallies, and wakes every woe.
Snatch’d ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour! 150
And when kind fortune, with thy lover, smiled! 151
And when high flavour’d thy fresh opening joys!
And when blind man pronounced thy bliss complete!
And on a foreign shore; where strangers wept!
Strangers to thee; and, more surprising still,
Strangers to kindness, wept: their eyes let fall