In Life, tempestuous Life, is dread and harm,
Approaching Death had no unpleasing form;
Approaching Death appeases ev’ry storm.
19. A Song
How hardly I conceal’d my tears!
How oft did I complain!
When many tedious days my fears
Told me I lov’d in vain.
But now my joys as mild are grown,
And hard to be conceal’d: