The sorrow of the night steals
What a morn brings as mirth;
And clouds of dark sweep
What was forever dearth.
Is it the clouding of the judgement of mine?
Shalt the sought be never within grasp?
With sorrow is my day fraught,
And within fear, doth my night gasp.
As winter falls, as summers fell,
The past is begone with a forgotten knell,
What died, shall it return?
Who shalt hath ever a concern?
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