O, Poverty! though from thy haggard eye, <br />Thy cheerless mien, of every charm bereft, <br />Thy brow that Hope's last traces long have left, <br />Vain Fortune's feeble sons with terror fly; <br />I love thy solitary haunts to seek. <br />For Pity, reckless of her own distress; <br />And Patience, in her pall of wretchedness, <br />That turns to the bleak storm her faded cheek; <br />And Piety, that never told her wrong; <br />And meek Content, whose griefs no more rebel; <br />And Genius, warbling sweet her saddest song; <br />And Sorrow, listening to a lost friend's knell, <br />Long banished from the world's insulting throng; <br />With thee, and thy unfriended offspring, dwell.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-o-poverty-though-from-thy-haggard-eye/
