The wild winds weep, And the night is a-cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs unfold: But lo! the morning peeps Over the eastern steeps. And the rustling beds of dawn The earth do scorn
Lo! to the vault Of paved heaven, With sorrow fraught My notes are driven: They strike the ear of night, Make weep the eyes of day; They make mad the roaring winds. And with tempests play
Like a fiend in a cloud, With howling woe After night I do crowd. And with night will go; I turn my back to the east From whence comforts have increas'd: For light doth seize my brain With frantic pain