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And now, when merry winds do blow,

And rain makes trees look fresh,

An overpowering staleness holds

This mortal flesh.



Though well I love to feel the rain,

And be by winds well blown --

The mystery of mortal life

Doth press me down.



And, In this mood, come now what will,

Shine Rainbow, Cuckoo call;

There is no thing in Heaven or Earth

Can lift my soul.



I know not where this state comes from --

No cause for grief I know;

The Earth around is fresh and green,

Flowers near me grow.



I sit between two fair rose trees;

Red roses on my right,

And on my left side roses are

A lovely white.



The little birds are full of joy,

Lambs bleating all the day;

The colt runs after the old mare,

And children play.



And still there comes this dark, dark hour --

Which is not borne of Care;

Into my heart it creeps before

I am aware.