Those childish passions that destroy
Our fickle joy;
How cruel Fates so e'er appear,
Their harmless anger I despise,
And fix'd, can neither fall nor rise,
Thrown below hope, but rais'd 'bove fear.
Despair.] Note here the skill and success of the use of the short—almost 'bob'—lines, and the In Memoriam arrangement of rhyme in the last half of each stanza.
The Picture.
Thou that both feel'st and dost admire