From: The Dial, Vol. I, No. II (Oct. 1840)
Author:
Published: Weeks Jordan and Company 1840 Boston
THE stars coldly glimmer— Why is the earth so sad? I press my hands upon my heart,
And I am alone.
The pale moon grows dimmer,
And now it has gone.
Loud shrieks the owl, night presses round,
The little flowers lie low on the ground
And sadly moan.
Why doth she weep?
Methinks she should be glad
Calmly to sleep.
But the dews are falling, heavy and fast,
Sadly sighs the cold night- blast,
Loud roars the deep.
‘T is very cold!
And swiftly through the forest dart
With footsteps bold.
What shall I seek? Where shall I go?
Earth and ocean shudder with woe!
Their tale is untold!
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