Threnody (“No Sunny Ray…”)
No sunny ray, no silver night,
Here cruelly alight!
Glare of noon-tide, star of e’en,
No violet-eyed green,
With its daisies’ yellow end,
The dewy debt receive of any eye!
It is a grave: and she doth lie
‘Neath roses’ root,
And the fawn’s mossy foot,
Under the sky-lark’s grassy floor,
Whose graceful life held every day,—
As lilies, dew—as dews, the starry ray—
More music, grace, delight than they.
When stars are few let light be here,
Of the softest, through the boughs
Berry-laden, sad and few;
And the wings of one small bird,
His form unseen, his voice unheard—
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