“Oh, Dreary Day!”

OH, dreary day, that had so late a dawn!

Oh, dreary day, so long, though early gone!

Fold thy gray mantle round thy form and go

To find the lost sun, while Night comes on,

Across the plain, with silent step and slow.

I weary of thy dark, unsmiling mood,

I weary of thy dull disquietude,

And thy complaining voice that tells of pain,

Not with the tempest's trumpet, but subdued

In broken sentences of falling rain.

Now, soft as household spirit, comes the Night

And draws the curtains, fanning still more bright

The cheerful fire, while for her gentle sake

The tapers burst in bloom with yellow light,

Like evening primroses just kissed awake.