Sonnet 27 (Frederick Goddard Tuckerman)

So to the mind long brooding but on itA haunting theme for anger, joy, or tears, With ardent eyes, not what we think appears; But hunted home, behold! its opposite. Worn sorrow breaking in disastrous mirth, And wild tears wept of laughter, like the drops Shook by the trampling thunder to the earth; And each seems either, or but a counterfeit Of that it would dissemble: hopes are fears And love is woe: nor here the discord stops; But through all human life runs the account, Born into pain and ending bitterly-- Yet sweet perchance, betweentime, like a fount That rises salt and freshens to the sea.