My heart is pain,
My spirit dearth;
Tears are the rain
Upon the earth:
And all the over-clouded sky
Is not more darkened than am I.
A while ago
I watched the snow,
And laughed to see
Its witchery;
Now that your face is turned away,
Winter's white magic melts from day.
The casement wide,
This wan Yuletide,
I opened — heard
One little bird
A-piping on a crystalled bough,
But he will pipe no longer now;
For when he saw
The stricken awe
Upon my face,
He left his place
And winged into the upper air —
My visaged grief he could not bear.
A little child,
By me beguiled
But yesterday
From busy play,
This morning hurried from these eyes —
He could not look where courage dies!
Under the sun
Two selves are one:
Sorrow and I!
Oh, let me die,
And never meet the month of May —
Now that your face is turned away!