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I could have sung as sweet as any lark
  Who in unfettered skies doth find him blest,
And sings to leaning angels prayer and praise,
  For in God's garden the most lowly nest.

But came the cares — a grey and stinging throng
  Of liliputian foes, whose thrust and dart
Did blind my eyes and hush my song in tears;
  Their brushing wings flung poison to my heart

I could have fought, in truth, a goodly fight,
  Braved death, nor feared defeat before one foe;
Against these puny cares I strive in vain.
  They sting my soul unto its overthrow.