To a little lump of malignity, on being medically assured that it was not a fresh growth, but an old growth splitting.
Split away, split away, split away, split!
Plague of my life, delay pretermit!
Rapidly, rapidly, rapidly go!
Haste ye to mitigate trouble and woe!
Then if you come again, done be His will
Who ordereth all things beyond human skill!
Patience he findeth who seeketh that need
Grace from the fountainhead comes at full speed.
Crack away, tumour, I pray thee to crack,
Just now you seem to be on the right track
But if you’re in the wrong, right let me be,
And promptly submitting to Heaven’s decree
From: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1540629/Coleridges-daughter-hid-her-poetic-passions.html
Date: 1852
By: Sara Coleridge (1802-1852)
From Troubles of The World 