Iii

The woodlands around it are solitary And fold it like gaunt hands; The sunlight is sad and the moonlight is dreary, And the hum of the country is weary, so weary! And the bees go by in bands To other lovelier lands. The grasses are rotting in walk and in bower; The lonesomeness,--dank and rank As a chamber where lies for a lonely hour An old-man's corpse with many a flower,-- Is hushed and blank. And even the birds have passed it by, To sing their songs to a happier sky, A happier sky and bank.