When old wounds bleed again In the silence of the night, And mixt with sweet delight Wells up the stream of pain, Is it less hard to endure That when the sword struck first So keen, with edge so sure? Was that wild hour the worst? O then a too strong smart O`erwhelmed the senses` power. Now in some tranquil hour When, fortified, the heart Is capable at ease Of sorrow, now returns By exquisite degrees Pain, and in silence burns. Is this still woe forlorn Less than that fierce despair? Perhaps `tis worse to bear Because `tis easier borne.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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