The Literary Magnet/Series 1/Volume 2/Stanzas of Wail


A summer without a summer sky,
But a dusky pall of clouds instead,
Hung over blossoms that childless die,
And under the vaulted branches lie,
Leaving no rosy progeny,
For ripe fruits weeping above their bed.

A festival wanting one festive cheek,
To smile in the light of a thousand lamps,
That now but quench the pale hectic streak,
Which oft, upon visages that speak
Of inward anguish, flitting and weak,
Burns like the night-breath of putrid swamps.

These are things full of grief and gloom,
But oh! they are bliss to the thoughts that rack
His heart, who hath fed, through a wintry doom,
On the hope that pleasure might once more bloom,
Might one day his eye with delight relume,
And has found nor flowers nor beams come back!

This work was published before January 1, 1928, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.