Mire
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 drapeThat us had been o'erhung -Tempt'd thy shutters to openAnd thus quench'd the hearth;Thou giv'st to misery all thou hast: the cold -With weal embrac'd the sprounting landscapeLike a star of heaven in the broad daylight -This joy subdueth until it again waneth,Save the drooping winter of stalwart.