 | Song-spray |  |
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UNCOMPANIONED.
At war with all the human race,
Where shall I turn my tired-out face?
Where shall I turn my tired-out face?
The meadow-sweet hath sun and air;
What hath the poet? Grim despair.
What hath the poet? Grim despair.
The sea hath wind and storm and light;
What hath the poet? Starless night.
What hath the poet? Starless night.
Woman hath love and roses' breath;
What hath her poet? Pain and death.
What hath her poet? Pain and death.
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