Charlotte Turner Smith

“ Reserves the thorn to fester in the heart.
For still the bids of soft Pity's melting eye
Stream o'er the ills she knows not to remove,
Points every pang, and deepens every sigh
Of mourning Friendship, or unhappy Love.
Ah! then, how dear the Muse's favours cost,
If those paint sorrow best -- who feel is most! ”