Despair

Ask not the pallid stranger's woe, With beating heart and throbbing breast, Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow, As though the body needed rest. -- Whose 'wildered eye no object meets, Nor cares to ken a friendly glance, With silent grief his bosom beats,-- Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance. Who looks around with fearful eye, And shuns all converse with man kind, As though some one his griefs might spy, And soothe them with a kindred mind.…