Explore "To s. F. S" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They say that lonely sorrows do not chance: / More gently, I think, sorrows together go; / A new one joins the funeral gliding slow / With less of jar than when it breaks the dance. / Grief swages grief, and joy doth joy enhance; / Nature is generous to her children so. / And were they quick to spy the flowers that blow, / As quick to feel the sharp-edged stones that lance / The foot that must walk naked in life's way, -- / Blest by the roadside lily, free from fear, / Oftener than hurt by dash of flinty spear, / They would walk upright, bold, and earnest-gay; / And when the soft night closed the weary day, / Would sleep like those that far-off music hear.