In those still musings, but to breathe, to live,
Did such exceeding pleasure to me give.
One little year! Oh, heart, thy throbbing cease!
How much of life was crowded in its span!
My daily paths were pleasantness, and peace,
When with swift round this circling year began,
But now a shadow rests on earth and sky,
Day after day still passes wearily.
I meant not to complain; for I have learned
In life each hath a sorrow to conceal.