And held the rein to joy?—Ah, self-control,
The rest rheumatic of a zest grown old,
It came with time; but mine had come from care.
Cold self-control, the curse of northern climes,
The artful despot of the Arctic heart,—
Before my summer scarce had warm’d me yet,
Was it to freeze me with its wintry clutch
Of colorless indifference? chill and check
The springs of love till still’d in ice-like death?
Woe me! I sigh’d; but then, with nobler cause,