Mutation

They talk of short-lived pleasure - be it so -Pain dies as quickly; stern, hard-featured painExpires, and lets her weary prisoner go.The fiercest agonies have shortest reign;And after dreams of horror, comes againThe welcome morning with its rays of peace.Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,Makes the strong secret pangs of pain to cease:

Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increaseAre fruits of innocence and blessedness;Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still releaseHis young limbs from the chains that round him press.Weep not that the world changes - did it keepA stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.