My misery, I will be no more betray'd
By hollow mockeries of the world around,
Or hopes and impulses, which I have found
Like ill-aim'd shafts, that kill by their rebound.
Complaint is for the feeble, and despair
For evil hearts. Mine still can hope—still bear—
Still hope for others what it never knew
Of truth and peace; and silently pursue
A path beset with briers, "and wet with tears like dew!"