Did I Complain?

Did I complain, made I a piteous plea?
With my complaint did heartsore I annoy
My fellow men, as does the whining boy

Whose fingers bleed! Shame and disgrace on me!

And after all what was the use to weep?

At hearts surcharged with woe, men never cease
To mock or tender them their sympathies.

Let them their jeers, their fellow feeling keep.
Could I have told in speech my woeful fate?
Can it be told, what it is 'fore a grave
To weep o'er her, to whom you truly gave

Your life's best love, death can't annihilate?

Howe'er I did complain. I did annoy
My fellow men by talking of my woe,
Permitted them to see my tears' fast flow,

As if I had been but an o'ergrown boy.

But henceforth I shall nevermore complain:
Into an icy lake shall change my heart,
Without a stream by which it might depart,

But where unseen may live my endless pain.