It is not sweet content, be sure, <br />That moves the nobler Muse to song, <br />Yet when could truth come whole and pure <br />From hearts that inly writhe with wrong? <br /> <br />'T is not the calm and peaceful breast <br />That sees or reads the problem true; <br />They only know, on whom 't has prest <br />Too hard to hope to solve it too. <br /> <br />Our ills are worse than at their ease <br />These blameless happy souls suspect, <br />They only study the disease, <br />Alas, who live not to detect.<br /><br />Arthur Hugh Clough<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-depths/
