The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: XCII
WRITTEN IN DISTRESS
We sometimes sit in darkness. I long while
Have sat there, in a shadow as of death.
My friends and comforters no longer smile,
And they who grudge me wrongfully my breath
Are strong and many. I am bowed beneath
A weight of trouble and unjust reproach
From many fools and friends of little faith.
The world is little worth, yet troubles much.
But I am comforted in this, that I,
Although my face is darkened to men's eyes
And all my life eclipsed with angry wars,
Now see things hidden; and I seem to spy
New worlds above my heaven. Night is wise
And joy a sun which never guessed the stars.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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