Not only in sweet melodious song
Of robin trilling at fresh break of dawn.
Thy love and Presence I now find
In floors unswept and tattered blind
From wearisome day and night void of sleep
Which causest the merriest heart to weep.
In dismal November's drizzling rain
Which beating against broken windowpane,
A funeral dirge from sad yesterday;
Solemnity of knells—hopeless decay.


~Hilda~