POOR, troubled heart, if thou wouldst find relief,
And think'st thy woe were eased if it were heard,
Go, 'prentice thee to that sad-coloured bird,
And learn to make the world in love with grief.
Sing as he sings, and tender eyes will weep,
Sing to the Night, as after summer drouth
The dew unseals the rose's silent mouth,
And all but love and sorrow are asleep.

Drug Day with work, for Day is loud and bold
Sing to the Night, let sorrow make no sign
Till it can flutter in the sunset gold,
Or in the silver moonlight softly shine;
Then let it forth, wild fire, or saving stream,
To take its way unchallenged—as a dream!