That sympathizing friend
Will never chide my sadness,
But, while I weep, he’ll o’er me bend,
And whisper words of gladness.
February 27, 1841.
THE POET’S WEALTH.
My friends, I am not poor.
What though my purse be empty? Let it lie
An empty bauble still; my heart is full
Of gushing tenderness to all I love;