Be It A Weakness, It Deserves Some

I Seem Forsaken And Alone, / I Hear The Lion Roar; / And Every Door Is Shut But One, / And That Is Mercy's Door.

When Scandal Has New-minted An Old Lie, Or Tax'd Invention For A Fresh Supply, 'tis Call'd A Satire, And The World Appears Gathering Around It With Erected Ears; A Thousand Names Are Toss'd Into The Crowd, Some Whisper'd Softly, And Some Twang'd Aloud, Just As The Sapience Of An Author's Brain, Suggests It Safe Or Dangerous To Be Plain.

Philologists, Who Chase A Painting Syllable Through Time And Space Start It At Home, And Hunt It In The Dark, To Gaul, To Greece, And Into Noah's Ark.

I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.

Accomplishments Have Taken Virtue's Place, And Wisdom Falls Before Exterior Grace.