Despondency

Not all the bravery that day puts on
  Of gold and azure, ardent or austere,
  Shall ease my soul of sorrow; grown more dear
  Than all the joy that heavenly hope may don.
  Far up the skies the rumor of the dawn
  May run, and eve like some wild torch appear;
  These shall not change the darkness, gathered here,
  Of thought, that rusts like an old sword undrawn.
  Oh, for a place deep-sunken from the sun!
  A wildwood cave of primitive rocks and moss!
  Where Sleep and Silence--breast to married breast--
  Lie with their child, night-eyed Oblivion;
  Where, freed from all the trouble of my cross,
  I might forget, I might forget, and rest!