All seems so dark around me. Stubborn fate
Has left me like a seared autumn leaf,
Nearly alone. Whene’er I meditate
On my once peaceful, joyful, blest estate,
And think how chang’d are all my prospects now,
My future joys I must anticipate,
Else would I ’neath the weight of anguish bow,
And gloom, dark frowning gloom, would overcloud my brow.
XXIV.
The very things my soul refused to touch[10]