IX
“I Know Not Why, but All This Weary Day”
I know not why, but all this weary day,Suggested by no definite grief or pain,Sad fancies have been flitting through my brain;Now it has been a vessel losing way,Rounding a stormy headland; now a grayDull waste of clouds above a wintry main;And then, a banner, drooping in the rain,And meadows beaten into bloody clay.Strolling at random with this shadowy woeAt heart, I chanced to wander hither! Lo!A league of desolate marsh-land, with its lush,Hot grasses in a noisome, tide-left bed,And faint, warm airs, that rustle in the hush,Like whispers round the body of the dead!