WRITTEN IN DISTRESS br We sometimes sit in darkness. I long while br Have sat there, in a shadow as of death. br My friends and comforters no longer smile, br And they who grudge me wrongfully my breath br Are strong and many. I am bowed beneath br A weight of trouble and unjust reproach br From many fools and friends of little faith. br The world is little worth, yet troubles much. br But I am comforted in this, that I, br Although my face is darkened to men's eyes br And all my life eclipsed with angry wars, br Now see things hidden; and I seem to spy br New worlds above my heaven. Night is wise br And joy a sun which never guessed the stars.