K. D. Dowdall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It seems we muse best when lonely,

Or depressed,

And only then, in pity,

We condemn our troubles,

Which appear to multiply,

Then double!

Yet, out of all this woe,

Our toiled and troubled spirit,

Seems to flow,

To fetter out the best,

Leaving all the rest.