Harken! the clouds mustered in dark
So painfully easing
Hush! hearest ye the yew doting
Its years of yore in a mire
Each like a corpse within its grave
Wrought for us a yearn of lief

Tis not a lore of bale nor loathe
Harmony and aesthesia are its blisses
Ne'er ere hath it exist'd so sonorously
Jostl'd away the pale drape
That us had been o'erhung

Tempt'd thy shutters to open
And thus quench'd the hearth
Thou giv'st to misery all thou hast: the cold
With weal embrac'd the sprounting landscape

Like a star of heaven in the broad daylight
This joy subdueth until it again waneth
Save the drooping winter of stalwart

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