Don Juan 04-067
Canto the Fourth

 LXVII

Short solace, vain relief! -- thought came too quick,
 And whirl'd her brain to madness; she arose
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
 And flew at all she met, as on her foes;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,
 Although her paroxysm drew towards its dose; --
Hers was a phrensy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her, in the hope to save.

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824) 
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