TIMES power is infinite: there was a day
When I, in wild abasement, wept and prayed,
Petitioning that it might pass away
This grief, which now I bear most undismayed.

The very stones where once I bleeding strayed
Now fit themselves to my accustomed feet.
Look you, I laugh, who was so sore afraid,
The first time I and my great grief did meet.

The bitterest potion grows by custom, sweet,
Or loathing may be hidden with a smile:
I have subdued the anguish that did beat
About my heart, a weary weary while,

And yet, methinks it proves but little gain,
That pain itself should dull my sense of pain!