harken! - the clouds mustered in dark -
so painfully easing.
hush! - hearest ye the yew doting;
its years of yore in a mire,
each like a corpse within its grave;
wrought for us a yearn of lief;
tis not a lore of bale nor loathe;
harmony and aesthesia are its blisses;
ne'er ere hath it exist'd so sonorously -
jostl'd away the pale drape
that us had been o'erhung -
tempt'd thy shutters to open
and thus quench'd the hearth;
thou giv'st to misery all thou hast: the cold -
with weal embrac'd the sprounting landscape
like a star of heaven in the broad daylight -
this joy subdueth until it again waneth,
save the drooping winter of stalwart. |