There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.
Ode on Adversity
Ode on Adversity By Mary Darby Robinson WHERE o'er my head, the deaf'ning Tempest blew, And Night's cold lamp cast forth a feeble ray; Where o'er the woodlands, vivid light'nings flew, Cleft the strong oak, and scorch'd the blossom'd spray; At morn's approach, I mark...



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