4th Journal last entry
Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled forever, let me mourn;
Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.
From the highest spire of contentment
My fortune is thrown;
And tears and sighs and groans my weary days
Of all joys have deprived.
Never may my torment be relieved,
Since pity is fled;
Pain, fear and grief are my lot;
True woe is a heart misled.
Down vain lights, shine you no more!
No nights are dark enough for those
That in despair their lost fortunes deplore;
Light doth but shame disclose.
Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,
May you contemn light,
Fortunate they that in hell
Feel not the world’s despite.