Usk me no more: the draw the rea moon may The cloud may stoop from heaven & take the shape. with fold to fold, of mountain or of cape, But, & too fond, when have I answer'd thee? hik me no more, Tears, idle tears I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart & gather to the eyes In looking And thinking on the happy Autumn fields, on the days that are no more. |