LXII.
And then I learn’d—as many a friend has learn’d—
Who with them strove my joy for them to share,
How much more joy was theirs, when theirs alone.
But this could scarcely turn my thought aside
From self, left lonelier now than e’er before.
I strove to drown my grief in work. The work
Was but a worm’s that eats from day to day
The morrow’s bed, at morning dragging on
A soulless trunk, through troubles void of hope.