The Stammerer's Complaint
Come, I will show thee an affliction
Yet real and wearisome and constant,
There be who can think within themselves,
And eloquence waiteth at their lips,
There be those whom zeal quickeneth,
Or need constrainteth to ask,
But nervous dread and sensitive shame freeze
The mouth is sealed as with lead,
The mocking promise of power is once more
And they stand impotent of words,
Courage is cowed at the portal,
He that went to comfort is pitied,
And fools who might listen and learn,
While friends, with kinder eyes,
And thought, finding not a vent,
And the man sinketh in his sphere
There may be cares and sorrows thou hast
And well may thy soul rejoice in the
For at every turn to want a word -- thou
It is as lack of breath or bread; life hath