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Sonnet to Ingratitude

Written by: Mary Darby Robinson | Biography
 He that's ungrateful, has no guilt but one;
All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
- YOUNG. 


I COULD have borne affliction's sharpest thorn;
The sting of malice­poverty's deep wound;
The sneers of vulgar pride, the idiot's scorn;
Neglected Love, false Friendship's treach'rous sound; 

I could, with patient smile, extract the dart 
Base calumny had planted in my heart; 
The fangs of envy; agonizing pain; 
ALL, ALL, nor should my steady soul complain: 

E'en had relentless FATE, with cruel pow'r,
Darken'd the sunshine of each youthful day;
While from my path she snatch'd each transient flow'r.
Not one soft sigh my sorrow should betray;
But where INGRATITUDE'S fell poisons pour,
HOPE shrinks subdued­and LIFE'S BEST JOYS DECAY.



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