University of Virginia Library


102

NIGHTWIND.

Moaning blast,
The summer is past,
And time and life are speeding fast.
Wintry wind,
Oh, where to find
The hopes we have left so far behind!
Mystery cold,
To thee have they told
Secrets the years may yet unfold?
Sorrow of night,
Is love so light
As to come and go like a breeze's flight?
Opiate balm,
Is death so calm
As to faint in one's ear like a distant psalm?