But what have I of comfort lost,
That healthier, stouter frames can boast!
Have I not sisters, ever near,
O ever kind! O ever dear!
Who suffer not the winds to wave
O'er the bent shrub they prop and save.
From Autumn's faded form they hide,
And Winter's stripping hand they guide;
And even midst the Summer's heat
An equal watchfulness I meet.
Away then, Health! thy frowns are vain,
Thou canst not touch my soul with pain!