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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=512837" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XXI.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=512837" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Pensive, at eve, on the hard world I mused,<br>And my poor heart was sad: so at the Moon<br>I gazed--and sighed, and sighed--for, ah! how soon<br>Eve saddens into night! Mine eyes perused,<br>With tearful vacancy, the dampy grass,<br>That wept and glitter'd in the paly ray,<br>And I did pause me on my lonely way,<br>And mused me on the wretched ones, who pass<br>O'er the black heath of Sorrow. But, alas!<br>Most of myself I thought: when it befell,<br>That the sooth Spirit of the breezy wood<br>Breath'd in mine ear--'All this is very well;<br>But much of one thing is for no thing good.'<br>Ah! my poor heart's inexplicable swell!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Samuel+Taylor+Coleridge">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</a></strong></div>

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