A Thought by Richard McDonald Caunter

I know not, but in grief there often lurks
A tenderness that blunts its keener edge,
And makes us love to woo it for a while,
When the heart feels an aching void within,
And has no zest for joy. And what is joy
But a wild ferment of the excited mind,
Which the least breath of sorrow overturns,
And chases from us, like the vapoury mist,
Which flees before the rising summer sun?
I court it not;—it is a hollow friend
That only smiles to win us and betray:
Grief is far honester—he flatters not,
And in his smiles there is no treachery.

From: Caunter, Richard McDonald, Attila, a Tragedy; and Other Poems, 1832, T. and W. Boone: London, p. 300.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=LN4_AQAAMAAJ)

Date: 1832

By: Richard McDonald Caunter (1798-1879)