|
DARK, dark, as when dull autumn yields
his breath;
Strange days when will ye change and let me see
A little sunshine ere I pass in death?
Oh! sadder than long sad hours of the night
When watching closing eyes that will not wake
Ever, again to hold the morning light.
Oh long long heavy hours and how long still?
Strangest of all is it that ye who have
Such deadening power should not have power to kill.
Oh! days all night - but, if the morning come,
I shall awaken, in whichever world,
With opening eyes, and know myself at home. |
