WRITTEN IN DISTRESS <br />We sometimes sit in darkness. I long while <br />Have sat there, in a shadow as of death. <br />My friends and comforters no longer smile, <br />And they who grudge me wrongfully my breath <br />Are strong and many. I am bowed beneath <br />A weight of trouble and unjust reproach <br />From many fools and friends of little faith. <br />The world is little worth, yet troubles much. <br />But I am comforted in this, that I, <br />Although my face is darkened to men's eyes <br />And all my life eclipsed with angry wars, <br />Now see things hidden; and I seem to spy <br />New worlds above my heaven. Night is wise <br />And joy a sun which never guessed the stars.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iv-vita-nova-xcii/
