Shortly we will plunge within the frigid gloom, Farewell swift summer brightness; all too short-- I hear already sounding with a death-like boom The wood that falls upon the pavement of the court.
The whole of winter enters in my Being--pain, Hate, honor, labour hard and forced--and dread, And like the northern sun upon its polar plane My heart will soon be but a stone, iced and red.
I listen trembling unto every log that falls, The scaffold, which they build, has not a duller sound, My spirits waver, like the trembling tower walls that shake--with every echoing blow the builders pound.
Meeseemeth--as to these monotonous blows I sway, They nail for one a coffin lid, or sound a knell-- For whom? Autumn now--and summer yesterday! This strange mysterious noise betokens a farewell.