Arthur Hugh Clough (Артур Хью Клаф)

In The Depths

It is not sweet content, be sure,
That moves the nobler Muse to song,
Yet when could truth come whole and pure
From hearts that inly writhe with wrong?

'T is not the calm and peaceful breast
That sees or reads the problem true;
They only know, on whom 't has prest
Too hard to hope to solve it too.

Our ills are worse than at their ease
These blameless happy souls suspect,
They only study the disease,
Alas, who live not to detect.

1. Currente Calamo
2. Cold Comfort
3. In the Great Metropolis
4. The Questioning Spirit
5. Blank Misgivings of a Creature Moving about in Worlds not Realised

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