Alone I sat, the summer day had died in smiling light away; I saw it die I watched it fade from misty hill and breezeless glade.
And thoughts in my soul were rushing and my heart bowed beneath their power, and tears within my eyes were gushing because I could not speak the feeling, the solumn joy around me stealing in that divine untroubled hour.
I asked myself, o why has heaven denied the precious gift to me; the glorious gift to many given to speak their thoughts in poetry.
Dreams have encircled me, I said, from careless childhood’s sunny time. Visions by ardent fancy fed since life was in its morning prime.
But now when I had hope to sing my fingers strike a tuneless string. And still the burden of the strain is: strive no more, ‘tis all in vain.