GRIEF, THOU HAST LOST AN EVER-READY FRIEND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Grief, thou hast lost an ever ready friend
Now that the cottage Spinning-wheel is mute;
And Care--a comforter that best could suit
Her froward mood, and softliest reprehend;
And Love--a charmer's voice, that used to lend,
More efficaciously than aught that flows
From harp or lute, kind influence to compose
The throbbing pulse--else troubled without end:
Even Joy could tell, Joy craving truce and rest
From her own overflow, what power sedate
On those revolving motions did await
Assiduously--to soothe her aching breast;
And, to a point of just relief, abate
The mantling triumphs of a day too blest.

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