SONNET
.
INGRATITUDE
,
—
how
deadly
is
thy
smart
,
Proceeding
from
the
Form
we
fondly
love
!
How
light
,
compar'd
,
all
other
sorrows
prove
!
Thou
shed'st
a
night
of
woe
,
from
whence
depart
The
gentle
beams
of
patience
,
that
the
heart
'Mid
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
,
e'en
all
that
makes
it
dear
;
Till
we
the
"
sensible
of
pain
"
wou'd
change
For
Phrenzy
,
that
defies
the
bitter
tear
,
Or
wish
,
in
kindred
callousness
,
to
range
Where
moon-ey'd
IDIOCY
,
with
fallen
lip
,
Drags
the
loose
knee
,
and
intermitting
step
.