THE PHYSICIAN

She comes when I am grieving and doth say,

“Child, here is that shall drive your grief away.”

When I am hopeless, kisses me and stirs

My breast with the strong lively courage of hers.

Proud — she will humble me with but a word,

Or with mild mockery at my folly gird;

Fickle — she holds me with her loyal eyes;

Remorseful — tells of neighbouring Paradise;

Envious — “Be not so mad, so mad,” she saith,

“Envied and envier both race with Death”

She my good Angel is: and who is she?—

The soul's divine Physician, Memory.