English poem
Ii
by R. D. Blackmore (1825–1900)
"For trie, no joy of earth or sky, No commune with the things I see, But dreary converse of the eye With worlds too grand to look at me-- No smile, no sigh!
"In vain I fall Upon my knees, In vain I weep and sob for ever; All other miseries have ease, All other prayers have ruth--but never Any for these.
"Are we endowed with heavenly breath, And God's own form, that we should win A proud priority of sin, And teach creation death?