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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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Poetry is the eloquence of verse.
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
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And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.
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I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
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God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
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