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Mary Darby Robinson - Sonnet to Ingratitude
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He that`s ungrateful, has no guilt but one;
All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
- YOUNG. 


  I COULD have borne affliction`s sharpest thorn;
    The sting of malice­poverty`s deep wound;
  The sneers of vulgar pride, the idiot`s scorn;
    Neglected Love, false Friendship`s treach`rous sound; 

  I could, with patient smile, extract the dart 
Base calumny had planted in my heart; 
The fangs of envy; agonizing pain; 
ALL, ALL, nor should my steady soul complain: 

  E`en had relentless FATE, with cruel pow`r,
    Darken`d the sunshine of each youthful day;
  While from my path she snatch`d each transient flow`r.
    Not one soft sigh my sorrow should betray;
  But where INGRATITUDE`S fell poisons pour,
    HOPE shrinks subdued­and LIFE`S BEST JOYS DECAY.
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