Poems (Procter)/A Crown of Sorrow

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A CROWN OF SORROW.
A SORROW, wet with early tears
 Yet bitter, had been long with me;
I wearied of this weight of years,
     And would be free.

I tore my Sorrow from my heart,
 I cast it far away in scorn;
Right joyful that we two could part,
     Yet most forlorn.

I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,)
 Over the world for flower or gem;
But she had had an ancient grace
     Unknown to them.

I took once more with strange delight
 My slighted Sorrow; proudly now
I wear it, set with stars of light,
     Upon my brow.

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