The state chiefly present in,

Every human's life,

The one which alters good and sin,

Akin to a craftsman's knife,

And cuts and shapes regrets with one's strife.

Oh sorrow! why though art,

For us to endure,

And bear and care then chart,

Our subject to thine own cure,

True enough we learn from thee for sure.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,

And never a word said she,

Her glance so deep and thorough,

So filled with melancholy,

But oh the things I learnt,

When Sorrow was with me.

***