ii.
The breezes blithe of deep-voiced spring
Whisper within thine ear sweet tales
Of musing woods and laughing vales,
Where brooklets babble, wild birds sing;
But pale the pleasure they impart,
For lo, they sing of alien themes;
Spring's subtle tremors, magic dreams,
Ne'er come to gladden thy sad heart:
But barrenness for ever flings
Around thy brows her pallid shroud,
And silence holds thee like a cloud,
And thou art loneliest of things!
Like to a soul that doth possess
No kin in others, but each day
It wears itself in grief away
At its own utter loneliness!
iii.
Art thou not weary, full of woe,
Old sentinel, whose stony eyes
Have watched the sleepless centuries
Unhasting, silent come and go?
Thou seest still from year to year
The strange transitions of the earth,
Grave Autumn's prime, and Springtide's birth,
Repletive Summer, Winter bare;
