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DISCONTENT.
Before my steps she hovering flits
My foe,— the demon Discontent;
Or by my side she sadly sits
With restless mien and eyes down-bent.
Most times, however, she doth lift
Her gaze beyond to something far;
I look, and through a cloudy rift
I see the shining of a star.
Why should I strive that star to gain?
My heart is faint, my courage spent;
Why should I leave the grassy plain,
O cruel, cruel Discontent.
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