Classic Poem

Ingratitude, how deadly is the smart
Thou giv'st, inhabiting the form we love!
How light compared all other sorrows prove!
Thou shed'st a night of woe—from whence depart
The gentle beams of patience, that the heart
Midst lesser ills illume. Thy victims rove,
Unquiet as the ghost that haunts the grove
Where murder spilt the life-blood. O! thy dart
Kills more than life—ev'n all that makes it dear;
Till we ‘the sensible of pain’ would change
For frenzy, that defies the bitter tear;
Or wish in kindred callousness to range
Where moon-eyed Idiocy, with fallen lip,
Drags the loose knee and intermitting step.