Iii

The woodlands around it are solitary And fold it like gaunt hands; The sunlight is sad and the moonlight is dreary, The hum of the country is lonesome and weary, And the bees go by in bands To gladder and lovelier lands. The grasses are rotting in walk and in bower; The loneliness,--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, Gone with their songs to a happier sky, A happier sky and bank.