Explore "Discontent" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Like a thorn in the flesh, like a fly in the mesh, / Like a boat that is chained to shore, / The wild unrest of the heart in my breast / Tortures me more and more. / I wot not why, it should wail and cry / Like a child that is lost at night, / For it knew no grief, but has found relief, / And it is not touched with blight.
It has had of pleasure full many a measure; / It has thrilled with love's red wine; / It has hope and health, and youth's rare wealth -- / Oh rich is this heart of mine. / Yet it is not glad -- it is wild and mad / Like a billow before it breaks; / And its ceaseless pain is worse than vain, / Since it knows not why it aches.