Classic Poem

Strange heaviness — I know not why.
The old grief, methought, had grown more light —
And no new ill hath chanced — yet I
Am very sorrowful to-night.

It is not that I cannot bear
The burden countless hearts have borne —
It is not that I shrink to wear
The garment countless limbs have worn —

Nor that, through sordid care and strife,
The soul her comrade must sustain,
To draw with pain the breath of life,
And break their daily bread with pain —

(So fiercely hath it drunk of joy,
So deeply drained the dregs of woe,
That common grief may scarce annoy,
And common good were pale and low) —

But that, to-night, from out the throng
Some surlier shadow flickers still —
Some wraith of old ancestral wrong,
Or cold rapport of coming ill.

Haunt, an thou will, gray evil gone!
Thrill, an 'tis thou, dumb pang to be!
The heart can hold ye both at one,
That knows a sadder guest than ye.