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LOW SPIRITS. 105
Fever, and fret, and aimless stir,
And disappointed strife, All chafing unsuccessful things,
Make up the sum of life.
Love adds anxiety to toil, And sameness doubles cares,
While one unbroken chain of work The flagging temper wears.
The light and air are dulled with smoke;
The streets resound with noise ; And the soul sinks to see its peers
Chasing their joyless joys.
Voices are round me; smiles are near;
Kind welcomes to be had; And yet my spirit is alone,
Fretful, outworn, and sad.
A weary actor, I would fain
Be quit of my long part; The burden of unquiet life
Lies heavy on my heart.