Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.

Sweet bird, that shun the noise of folly, most musical, most melancholy!

But pain is perfect misery, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturns All patience.

Come knit hands, and beat the ground in a light fantastic round

For so I created them free and free they must remain.

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompany'd; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant sung; Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmament With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

To be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering.