William Cullen Bryant

Mutation

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