As from the sun shut out on every side
By the close veil of misery. Oh! but ill,
When with rich hopes o’erfraught, the young high heart
Bears its first blow! It knows not yet the part
Which life will teach—to suffer and be still,
And with submissive love to count the flowers
Which yet are spared, and through the future hours
To send no busy dream! She had not learn’d
Of sorrow till that hour, and therefore turn’d
In weariness from life. Then came th’ unrest,