For, when so full the cup of sorrow grows,
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Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows.
And now her path, but not her peace, she gains,
Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains;
Her home she reaches, open leaves the door,
And, placing first her infant on the floor,
She bares her bosom to the wind, and sits,
And sobbing struggles with the rising fits.
In vain, they come; she feels th'inflating grief,