There was a time, poor phrensied maid, <br />When I could o'er thy grief have mourned, <br />And still with tears the tale repaid <br />Of sense by sorrow's sway o'erturned. <br /> <br />But now thy state my envy moves: <br />For thou art woe's unconscious prize; <br />Thy heart no sense of suffering proves, <br />No fruitless tears bedew thine eyes. <br /> <br />Excess of sorrow, kind to thee, <br />At once destroyed thy reason's power; <br />But reason still remains to me, <br />And only bids me grieve the more.<br /><br />Amelia Opie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-maniac/
