Classic Poem

Why should her misery o'er my own prevail?
Hence horrid shadows! from my brain depart! ...
It may not be! — the melancholy tale
Rings in my ear, and weighs upon my heart!

I cannot rest! — I knew there were such woes
But thought them singular, and did not deem,
That such again would break on my repose
With all the tortures of a troubled dream.

Lovely and innocent and good and kind
Young, sensitive, yet wise from early grief,
A faultless body and a spotless mind
Supremely wretched! — 'Tis beyond belief!

But truth and that which seems so are not one
And spite of all that wisdom said of old
There still are mysteries beneath the sun
All the hearts secrets have not yet been told!

I may not tell them! ... There are wounds that bleed
And must bleed inwardly, while there is breath
Yet thou may'st bear them Mary, for indeed
Others have borne them and will bear 'till death!

But come what will! — worn out with grief and care
Whether you totter on — or cast them down
You have one fellow sufferer in Despair
One friend to cheer thee though the World should frown!