A LAMENT
1
The sun looks from a cloudy sky,
On yellow bleaching reeds.—
The river streams run muddy by,
Among the flags and reeds.
And nature seems so lost and coy,
All silent and alone;
Left here without a single joy,
Or love to call my own.
2
How mournful now the river seems,
Adown the vale to run;
That ran so sweet in my young dreams,
And glittered in the sun.
Now cold and dead, the meadow lies,
And muddy runs the stream:
The lark on drooping pinion flies,—
And spoiled is pleasures dream.
3
The wind comes moaning through the trees,—
No maiden passes by.
And all the summer melodies,—
Are uttered in a sigh.
On many a knoll I set me down,
Beneath a silent sky,
And of the past all seem to frown,
And pass in sorrow by.
