Despair

The long and tedious months move slowly by

And February's chill has fled away

Before the gales of March, and now e'en they

Have died upon the peaceful April sky:

And still I sadly wander, still I sigh,

And all the splendour of each Springtime day

Is dyed, for me, one melancholy grey,

And all its beauty can but make me cry.

For thou art silent, Oh! far distant friend,

And not one word has come to cheer my heart

Through these sad months, which seem to have no end,

So distant seems the day which bade us part!

Oh speak! dear fair-haired angel! Spring has smiled,

And I despair — a broken-hearted child.