SufFring that only the more endears,
And love, that would reach into endless years,
Snuff' d out, it may be, in a minute!
Would you look on a mother in all her pride?
Her radiant, dazzling, glorious pride?—
Then seek yon garret—leaden-eyed—
And thrust the mouldering panel aside—
The door that has nothing to lock it,—
And the walls are tatter'd, and damp, and drear,
And the light has a quivering gleam, like fear,