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Poem by William Cullen Bryant


THEY talk of short-lived pleasure--be it so--
    Pain dies as quickly; stern, hard-featured pain 
Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go.
    The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; 
    And after dreams of horror, comes again 
The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
    Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, 
Makes the strong secret pangs of pain to cease:

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase
    Are fruits of innocence and blessedness; 
Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release
    His young limbs from the chains that round him press. 
Weep not that the world changes--did it keep
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep

William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant's other poems:
  1. The Evening Wind
  2. I Broke the Spell That Held Me Long
  3. A Forest Hymn
  4. To a Waterfowl
  5. The Prairies

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