I.
The leaves are shivering on the thorn,
Drearily;
And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,
Wearily.
I press my thin face to the pane,
Drearily;
But never will he come again.
(Wearily.)
The rain hath sicklied day with haze,
Drearily;
My tears run downward as I gaze,
Wearily.
The mist and morn spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God gives to thee?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the morn and mist,
Drearily:
"The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed."
(Wearily.)
The morn and mist spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing which thou dost see?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the mist and morn,
Drearily:
"The shame of man and woman's scorn."
(Wearily.)
"He loved thee not," they made reply.
Drearily.
I said, "Would God had let me die!"
(Wearily.)
II.
My dreams are as a closed up book,
(Drearily.)
Upon whose clasp of love I look,
Wearily.
All night the rain raved overhead,
Drearily;
All night I wept awake in bed,
Wearily.
I heard the wind sweep wild and wide,
Drearily;
I turned upon my face and sighed,
Wearily.
The wind and rain spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God takes from thee?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the rain and wind,
Drearily:
"The love, for which my soul hath sinned."
(Wearily.)
The rain and wind spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What are these things thou still dost see?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the wind and rain,
Drearily:
"Regret, and hope despair hath slain."
(Wearily.)
"Thou lov'st him still," they made reply,
Drearily.
I said, "That God would let me die!"
(Wearily.)
