Poems (Griffin)/The Sensitive Heart

WHY art thou sad? Why sittest pale melancholy ever brooding on thy brow? Look around thyself. Behold the clustering blessings with which thou art surrounded. E'en joy, rich joys, are hovering to greet thee, while the sunny smile of love and approbation make luminous the sphere of thy association. Still thou art sorrowful; still the mantle of gloom encircles thee like a shroud, and the bending shadows of the darkened tomb are girt about thee. Alas! thine is the fate of the too sensitive. Bowed down by the sorrows of many, e'en when thine own star is brightest,—melting, with its rich effulgence, the heart to thankfulness,—then does thine eye wander to the cloud which is shadowing the less glorious planet of thy friends or neighbors. And thus art thou drooping ever beneath sorrows not thine own,—turning listlessly from the bright flowers which adorn thy path, because others may not bask in the sunshine of their beauty, or taste the rich breath of their sweet perfume.