No; 'twas not the flowery plain:
No; 'twas not the fragrant air:
Summer skies will come again,
But thou wilt not be there.
······
How loud the storm sounds round the hall!
From arch to arch, from door to door,
Pillar and roof and granite wall
Rock like a cradle in its roar.
The elm-tree by the haunted well
Greets no returning summer skies;
Down with a rush the giant fell
And stretched across the path it lies.
Hardly had passed the funeral train,
So long delayed by wind and snow;
And how they'll reach the house again
To-morrow's sun perhaps will show.
······
What use is it to slumber here,
Though the heart be sad and weary?
What use is it to slumber here,
Though the day rise dark and dreary?
For that mist may break when the sun is high,
And this soul forget its sorrow,
And the rosy ray of the closing day
May promise a brighter morrow.
