When, had he fifty ink-stands, he could throw
Each at some devil fraught with fancied woe;
And when, perchance, atop of all this gloom,
In his heart's world there's yet sufficient room
For Cupid to come blundering through the dark,
And make his sensibilities a mark,
And, viewing each the other from afar,
Learning and Love frown dolefully, and spar;
What for his trouble-phantoms makes amends
Like the support of Brothers and of Friends?