Pierce Shafton, The Literary Magnet (1824)
“ Burns like the night-breath of putrid swamps.These are things full of grief and gloom, But oh! they are bliss to the thoughts that rack His heart, who hath fed, through a wintry doom, On the hope that pleasure might once more bloom, Might one day his eye with delight relume, And has found nor flowers nor beams come back! ”
