To My Joy-Giver

Of the earth's many millions, none like me
Hath the blind Ate marked for sorrow—none;
Each, each his share of gloom and grief may see,
Yet have their guardian angels every one.
I have no guardian angel—left alone
By heaven and by the world; and misery
E'en in my bone-pith—helpless, woe-begone;
No balsam—nought but tears, shed ceaselessly.

E'en Eros multiplies my sad alarms:
"Let Ate's anger sooth his joys," he said;
And Sophie slumbered sweetly in my arms:
Now is a light upon my darkness shed;
And I, by love's strong influence shielded o'er,
Hear Ate's savage threatenings no more.