[Written in the spring of 1819, when suffering from physical depression, the precursor of his death, which happened soon after]

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
  My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
  One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
’T is not through envy of thy happy lot,...