Page:Moyarra- An Australian Legend in Two Cantos, 1891.djvu/76

I feel my language faint and weak)
That this engrossing apathy
⁠In which you strive, and vainly strive,
To bury thought of time gone by
⁠Is but the spring which keeps alive
The source which feeds your constant grief
And bars the access of relief.
'Tis weak opposing ills to fly.
Nor effort make their force to try;
But wise to prove each avenue
That hope can tint with prospects new.
⁠Look! when the face of heaven is drear
And clouds obscure the light of day
⁠The glad earth drinks each genial tear,
The sun resumes his golden sway.
What bird or beast, by adverse fate
Bereaved, finds not another mate?
One fountain of their joy is dried:
Another pours its willing tide.
No sorrows that we see endure.
Shall ours alone reject a cure?
⁠But, Moya, tell me not again
Of gratitude won by my love:
Thou dost but grieve a heart which fain