Sonnet: - X.
Poor snail, that toilest at my weary feet, Thou, too, must have thy burden! Life is sweet If we would make it so. How vast a load To carry all its days along the road Of its serene existence! Christian-like, It toils with patience, seeking sweet repose Within itself when wearied with the throes Of its life-struggle. The low sounds that strike Upon the ear in wafts of melody, Are cruel mockeries, O snail, of thee. The cricket's chirp, the grasshopper's shrill tone, The locust's jarring cry, all mock thy lone And dumb-like presence. May this heart of mine, When tried, put on a resignation such as thine.
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"Poor snail, that toilest at my weary feet,..."
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